


touch and its memory

by asukesay



Category: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asukesay/pseuds/asukesay
Summary: 5 months after the game, Bethany gets a phone call; maybe the summer before her senior year wasn’t going to be as uneventful as she thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this movie gave me a lot of feelings and I have no one to talk about it with so I’m writing this stupid fanfic on my phone.

.

.

Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night, suffocating in muggy, humid air, thick legs kicking out, trapped in the jungle underbrush, burning, never fast enough –

It takes a moment - a terrifying moment, and sometimes even longer than that - but her breathing evens out and reality catches up to her.

Details of her bedroom come into focus the longer she fights off the tethers of sleep; her air conditioner hums, nowhere near as loud as the purring of motorcycles, the growl of a panther. There’s a One Direction poster hanging next to her bed by one thumb tack, curling at the edges; there are clothes piled on the chair in the corner.

It takes a second to remember the body she’s in as well; fat bleeds into toned muscle, paleness into tanned skin. A b-cup either way, but these ones much more aesthetically pleasing (and a lot less hairy). She still feels her dick sometimes, a phantom limb - a sensation this body doesn’t know but her mind remembers vividly. She even lifts up the sheets just to be sure it was really gone.

 

She calls Martha because Martha gets it. Not that Spencer and Fridge don’t get it, but talking to Martha is easier; they really bonded in the jungle, and Martha’s usually already awake studying.

Predictably, she picks up after one ring. “Another nightmare?”

Bethany lies back down against her pillows, stares up at the plastic stars taped to her ceiling. “It’s been five months,” she says softly. Even her voice startles her, octaves higher than in her memory. She clears her throat. “I guess I thought I’d stop hearing drums by now.”

“We destroyed the game,” Martha reminds her, in her logical, matter-of-fact Martha voice. “There’s no way we’ll ever go back there.”

Bethany hums softly. She’d never say it out loud, but maybe that was part of the problem.

There’s a moment of companionable silence, and then Martha adds, “I do miss parts of it though. I miss being hot.”

Bethany snorts. “Shut up, you’re still hot.”

Martha, more open with her feelings now than she’s ever been, whines something about Ruby Roundhouse’s legs and her abs, conversation purposefully trailing off into something sillier. Which is disappointing, maybe, because Bethany feels like she could have wallowed in self-pity for a little bit longer.

But it’s better this way; it’s better to focus on the lighter aspects of their experience than what’s really plaguing her. What has been plaguing her for months, in the back of her head, on the tip of her tongue.

She closes her eyes, focuses on Martha’s voice, and tries not to see his face.

.

.

She starts running with Fridge every morning, a few weeks after the game.

She’s in pretty good shape as it is, left over from volleyball season, but she still remembers what it’s like to gasp for air that wouldn’t fill her lungs, how it felt to have your legs give out on you, and she doesn’t think the out-of-breath feeling will ever leave her entirely. She could have died in the game - endurance was her weakness, after all - was so close too many times for comfort. _DID_. Twice, technically. She’s just taking precautions. She doesn’t think she can be blamed for that.

They meet on her street while it’s still dark, Fridge yawning too loud for how early it is. He greets her with a pat on the back, a comforting weight, and waits for her to stretch and put her headphones in before they start. They run through half the town before the sun even rises, and she’s happy for a minute, feeling the concrete under her pink nikes, the houses and trees bathed in periwinkle blue.

She pointedly keeps her eyes on the road when they run passed the Vreeke house. Keeps her eyes away from that side of the street for at least three blocks.

 

Fridge doesn’t mention it if he notices.

.

.

Noah is waiting for her by her locker before the home room bell rings.

The old Bethany would have melted on the spot just at the sight of his long blonde hair and football-built broad torso. The way his green eyes narrow on her would have had her completely at his mercy.

She almost hates her old self for it.

But the new Bethany finds it annoying. He’s been rooted in this spot every morning for 5 months, it’s a wonder he hasn’t burned shoe marks into the floor beside her. Still, she greets him with a polite smile and a nod, and waits patiently for him to step aside so she can gather her textbooks.

He asks what her plans are for summer break and she tries to appease him with as little information as possible. He doesnt acknowledge what she said, and he fills in the second after her sentence ended with his own, explaining that it’s his last summer of football camp before he graduates unless he gets scouted and -

She stares at him and wonders how she was ever as enamored with him as she was.

 

“Listen,” he says on their walk to her homeroom despite her protests that he really didn’t need to -

“We’re worried about you,” he scratches the back of his head. “Seems like you got close to those weirdos and stopped posting on Facebook in the same week. We miss the old you.” He steps in front of her, making her stop, and hooks his index finger underneath her chin, making her look up at him.

“I miss the old you.”

This was her fantasy, months ago. For Noah to look at her the way he was now and tell her he wanted her back. She day-dreamt about this moment a thousand times.

What a ridiculously shallow dream.

”I like those weirdos,” she defends, leaning her head back out of his reach. “And...I’m happy with who I am now. If you don’t like it then you don’t have to talk to me.”

She walks into her homeroom class without waiting for his reaction, and smiles when she finds that she doesn’t even care.

.

.

She doesn’t see much of Lucinda anymore.

She’s sad about that for a while - she’d been her best friend, after all - hours of sleepovers and FaceTime and iMessage all wasted on a friendship that couldn’t last without a screen distracting them.

But the game really _did_ change her. Now she goes days without charging her phone, goes for hikes with the group and doesn’t even bring it with her. She can’t remember where she left her selfie stick, and doesn’t even care. She hasn’t posted to Instagram in like, 2 weeks now.

She likes it - not being so plugged in. She has time for other things now - even picked up a few new hobbies, like drawing. She used to text through art class, willingly taking a barely passing grade because she wasn’t interested in getting graphite on her fingers or paint on her clothes. She pays attention now - and she actually likes it. And her teacher says she has a lot of talent.

He looks over her shoulder at the sketchbook in front of her. “Very nice,” he tells her. “What is that a map of?”

Nowhere, she lies.

.

.

The gang sits together at lunch now, which used to attract stares and whispers from every social circle in the school, but now no one really bats an eye at the four of them. She takes her usual spot next to Fridge, setting her bag down on the table. She steals a fry off of his tray - which he absolutely notices and complains about.

Spencer and Martha laugh at him - laugh with each other and are so completely adorable in their awkwardness that Bethany can barely look at them or she might start squealing.

A lot of good came out of the game; she has to remember that.

“Casey is throwing a party Friday night,” Fridge mentions between bites of his burger. “Y’all are invited.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “‘Y’all’ or ‘you and Beth’?”

Fridge rolls his eyes. “I said y’all didn’t I?” He looks at Bethany. “Didn’t I say y’all?”

She ignores him. “Count me out. Last time I went to one of Casey’s parties the cops busted it and I had to walk all the way home drunk. And in heels.”

”I’ll give you a ride.” Fridge says. “Come on, it’s the last party of Junior year. Everyone is going.”

”We should go,” Martha says suddenly, determinedly. Bethany shoots her a look because what the hell, Martha is supposed to be the reasonable one. The redhead looks sheepish, “It might be fun?”

”Well I’m going if you are.” Spencer smiles at her, and Martha smiles back before ducking her head shyly. She glances at Bethany from underneath her red lashes, all irresistibly pleading puppy dog eyes.

“We should all go.” She says.

Bethany sighs. She really would rather not. She was kind of over the whole high school party vibe - over choking down a drink that was way too strong while some aggressively loud guy she didn’t even know tried to impress her by shotgunning PBRs.

Spencer and Martha wanting to go made sense - they were finally opening up to the possibility of typical rebellious teenager fun, and we’re now in a position to attend such cliche functions (instead of being shunned as outcasts either by their own hand ((Martha)) or decided by everyone else ((Spencer))). She doesn’t want to take that away from them. Not that they couldn’t just go without her but Bethany can already see how it would play out.

Casey’s parties were notoriously boozey, and Bethany knows for a fact that once Fridge started doing shots he didn’t stop, and he’d leave them defenseless in a house full of the same people who mocked them for the first two years of high school. Inevitably their social anxieties would get the better of the both of them and they’d leave after one beer, if that.

And that, Bethany decides, was no way to experience their first high school party.

“Fine,” She relents, friendly affection blooming in her stomach at the smile that twists Martha’s lips. “But I’m not drinking.”

Fridge claps her on the back. “Atta girl. I’ll drink enough for both of us.”

Spencer snickers. ”We all know you can’t handle your liquor, Moose Finbar.”

”It’s _Mouse._ ”

She sees him then, in his hideout. Sees his strong stubbled jaw, Margarita in hand. She forces out a laugh at the memory along with the rest of the group; laughs until the tightness in her chest goes away.

.

.

Hunter tackles her as soon as she walks in the house, before she can set her backpack down or slip off her shoes.

She grunts as she lifts him - she swears he gets bigger every day. He’s telling her animatedly about school, about the story they read in class, waving his arms in an exaggerated fashion and she ducks to avoid getting smacked in the face.

Waddling, she carries him through the hall to the living room, where her mother is seated on the sofa.

”Hi Bunny,” she doesn’t look up from whatever dramatic soap opera she’s watching until Bethany plops down next to her, Hunter squirming in her lap. She speaks over his shrill demands of being let go, glancing back and forth between Bethany and the television. “How was school?”

Bethany keeps her brother trapped for a few more seconds, kissing the top of his curly blonde head before he can scramble away. “It was okay,” she says, watching Hunter disappear into the kitchen. “I got an A on my history quiz.”

”That’s wonderful.” Her mom tells her, reaching over to pat her knee. “Your grades have really improved since first semester, huh?”

Bethany shrugs, eyes turning towards the TV where a ruggedly handsome doctor is embracing a pretty brunette nurse. “I guess. Not having constant distractions helps.”

”Well, I’m proud of you. There are sliced apples in the fridge if you want a snack. And pizza for dinner, since you’re eating carbs again.”

”I could have pizza for the rest of my life and not complain.” Bethany says, standing. “I don’t know how I did it.”

“You have your fathers’ willpower. And my good looks.” Her mother’s attention is back on the tv by the time she adds, ”Oh, and you have mail on the counter.”

Bethany raids the fridge for the apples, grabs a Capri sun while she’s there, and takes a seat at the bar, stool scraping against the tile. She grabs the stack of mail, crunching down on an apple slice while she goes through them.

There’s a few pamphlets for the nearby university on top - pamphlets Bethany skips over because there’s no way she’s thinking about college right now, not until September at least. Instead she flips through a Zumiez catalogue absentmindedly while she eats. She finds more mail wedged in between the pages - a coupon for bubble tea at the Vietnamese place downtown.

And a letter.

There’s nothing in particular that’s special about it; it’s a plain white envelope with a generic American flag stamp and her name scrawled messily, off-center.

_Ms. Bethany Walker_

Still, her fingers are inexplicably trembling as she picks it up, eyes widening when she sees who it’s from. There, in the top left corner, a name she’s been simultaneously avoiding and obsessing over since December.

_Alex Vreeke_

.

.

She’s not a masochist, so she doesn’t open it.

But she also _is_ kind of a masochist, so she shoves it back into the catalogue, clutches it to her chest and makes a beeline for her bedroom.

She shuts her bedroom door and flops onto her bed, magazine discarded onto the floor. She holds the letter up to the ceiling, squinting at it - like if she looks hard enough she could see through the envelope.

She wants to open it - she really fucking wants to open it. But what would it even say? She hasn’t even talked to him since that afternoon in December, when the game spit them out without him.

Sure, for the first few weeks she’d spent hours Googling his name and trying to find his Facebook account (with no luck), hopelessly in love with someone who didn’t even exist anymore - in love with a man that had the wrong face and two kids and twenty years on her.

And part of her was more than happy to keep hopelessly pining after him; the idea of them one day being together made her as happy as it did miserable. She knows logically it could never happen, but fuck, she’s 16 and it makes breathing a little easier.

Still, it’s that same logical voice in her head that keeps her from contacting him, has kept her from contacting him for 5 months now. And she’s proud of herself, a little. Maybe she had her fathers’ willpower after all.

She wishes it was a postcard, so she could flip it over and see his words at face value. So she didn’t have to debate like she is. So she could get the heartbreak over all at once.

Naively, she thinks that maybe there was no heartbreak coming; wonders if it’s a love letter. And hates the thought of that the moment it pops into her head. She squashes down the excitement that bubbles in her stomach, berating herself.

Why is she doing this? She’s supposed to be getting over him, should be over him. This was the absolute opposite.

But he’s the one that sent the letter in the first place.

She slides her thumb underneath the seal, applying the slightest pressure, feeling it give and pull apart. She takes a breath to steady her pounding heart.

Her cellphone rings in the pocket of her jacket, startling the hell out of her and making her drop the letter into her lap. She scrambles to find her phone, keeping her eyes on the envelope, afraid that if she looks away it might disappear - that he might disappear.

She answers without looking, distracted. “Hello?”

”Hey,” Martha’s voice greets her. “Did you start the Calculus homework yet?”

Martha, her savior. Keeping her grounded without even realizing it. She swings her legs off the bed, grabbing the letter before she heads to her desk, cluttered with notebooks and manga and her computer. She feels stupid. “Uh, no. Hold on, let me get my textbook.”

Her textbook - because she’s 16 and a junior and stupid and suddenly so very angry at herself. At him too, maybe.

She shoves the letter into her desk drawer, way in the back behind her middle school yearbook and childhood diary. She doesn’t want to think about it right now - doesn’t want to think about him.

She pushes the drawer shut and it almost feels like a door closing.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess some good came out of the game after all, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t edit anything so any spelling mistakes are from me being negligent and I’m sorry. It’s been a few months since I saw the movie and these characters have basically taken on a life of their own in my head. Thank you so much to everyone who kudos’d/commented the first chapter. I’d give my second to last life to every one of you.

.

.

That door doesn’t stay shut for long.

  
“Oh my god,” Martha says, holding the letter in her hands like it’s fragile - staring at it like it’s priceless. “You have to open it.”

Bethany sighs, squints at her toes and wipes a stray streak of nail polish off her skin. She’s on her bed, giving herself a sub par, distracted pedicure while Martha spins in her desk chair, letter from Alex in her hands.

Bethany didn’t want to show her - didn’t want to bring him up at all, actually. Because she’s - the door is supposed to be shut and stay that way. He had a family, and she had stayed away - not wanting to be a bother and not wanting to get herself even more heartbroken. This was the first attempt he’s made to contact her since the game, and it’s obvious; he’s had two decades to miss her - it had to have gotten old fast. Even if it was new to her, it didn’t matter. And maybe someday it would get old to her, too.

That’s what she tells herself, and it doesn’t make her feel better, but it keeps her grounded. Keeps her from doing something embarrassing, anyway. Even if she needs to repeat it again and again and again...

 

...but also she’s 16. And naive, and in love. And it’s been eating at her for days now, and Bethany feels like she might explode if she doesn’t tell someone. And who better to tell than Martha?

  
But that doesn’t mean she has to read it.

  
“Come on!” Martha whines. “You aren’t the least bit curious? It’s a letter. From _Alex Vreeke_.”

“I can read,” Bethany sighs and seals the cap of her nail polish. “And of course I’m curious. But it doesn’t matter.”

“What if he’s confessing his love for you?”

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Bethany repeats again, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She snatches the letter from Martha’s hand, where the redhead is waving it like a victory flag. She stashes it back in the drawer, where really she should have just kept it and never taken it out. “What could I do about that, even if that was the case? He’s like, 40.”

“It’s different,” Martha insists, crossing her arms. “You fell in love with him when he was, what, 17? It’s not his fault he time traveled.”

Bethany ignores that, moving to her dresser to rifle through the top drawer. She had no idea what she was going to wear. “I’m not blaming him.” She looks through the piles of clothes, fingers touching the fabric but she couldn’t be further away from recognizing what’s in her hands. She’s staring sightlessly in front of herself but only seeing him. “It’s no one’s fault. Just that stupid game.”

“He’s probably been like, waiting for you for twenty years. He’s been in love with a girl that wasn’t even born yet. And now that she’s alive and like, super hot she won’t even read a letter penned straight from his heart. That’s tragic.”

Bethany rolls her eyes. Martha was nothing if not a drama queen. A _romantic_ drama queen. Which is something that would surprise most people, and surprised Bethany at first, because Martha was always so quiet, so logical. She figured dramatics were above the redhead.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I’m going to read it,” Bethany says. “Just...not tonight.” She shuts her dresser drawer more forcefully than necessary, feeling frazzled. But that was kind of the affect Alex had on her. “We have a party to get ready for and you are seriously killing my vibe.”

She wonders who she’s really reminding with that - Martha, or herself.

Martha sighs, long and loud and _dramatic_ , but seems to drop it. She sets the letter down next to Bethany’s laptop before she rises from her chair and moves to stand next to Bethany, in front of the open closet. She reaches out and pushes a few dresses to the side, face furrowing deeper and deeper into a frown the further she gets. “Are you gonna make me look, like, super slutty?”

Bethany rests her chin on Martha’s shoulder. “Do you want me to?”

“No,” the redhead says quickly. Then, after a moment: “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” Bethany tells her. “And Spencer likes you the way you are.”

“I know that,” Martha says defensively, cheeks as red as her hair. “But...Ruby’s crop-top-short-shorts-combat-boots combo made me feel...”

“Badass?” Bethany supplies.

Martha smiles softly. “Yeah. I want to go into my first high school party looking...looking badass.”

Bethany matches her smile fondly, and takes a moment to appreciate everything the game has brought her. Even if most of those things were out of her reach - probably would always be - some of them weren’t.

Her friends weren’t going to disappear.

“Well then, Ms. Roundhouse,” Bethany slings her arms over Martha’s shoulders. “I’m gonna make you the most badass looking chick there.”

Martha audibly swallows, face paling. “The regret I’m feeling is so instantaneous, I think I should lie down.”

Bethany rolls her eyes for what feels like the millionth time that afternoon. “ _Drama queen_.”

.

.

It’s a little after 10:30 when they arrive, fashionably late. In reality they’ve been ready since 9, hostages in Bethany’s bedroom until her night owl parents fell asleep.

Even from the street Bethany can see that it’s packed - recognizes faces through the windows as her and Martha get closer to the house.

Colorful paper lantern lights strung along the bushes lining the front of Casey’s house, the vibrations of the bass inside so loud Bethany can feel it on the front porch.

This is a scene Bethany has grown used to over the years - popularity putting her in these situations more often than the average high schooler. She used to love it - getting dressed up, putting on fake lashes and smudge proof lipstick and drinking enough to disappoint her mother, if she ever found out.

A wave of something flashes through her as she opens the front door, stepping aside to let Martha in. Guilt, maybe - a side affect of her newfound responsibility.

Bethany is proud of the growth she’s experienced since the game but - some nights she wishes it would stop following her.

And that’s kind of what she was going for with her outfit - a lot of straps and a lot of skin. Again, Bethany is happy she’s matured beyond this but tonight she wants to be the old Bethany and forget the game - if only for a few hours.

Or, certain aspects of it, anyway.

It’s easy enough to forget once they’re in the middle of it; gyrating bodies swarming like bees in the middle of the makeshift dance floor in the living room, Bethany with a hand on Martha’s back, pushing her towards the kitchen, where Fridge texted her that he and Spencer would be.

Martha squeaks and apologizes every time someone bumps into her, and Bethany has to smile at that: she remembers how overwhelming her first party had been.

She moves in front of Martha, grabbing her hand and pushing them through the crowd. She smiles at the people she knows, gives a small wave to Lucinda when she sees her on the couch, wedged between two football players. Lucinda makes eye contact with her, but breaks it quickly, turning back to the boy on her left with a loud, fake laugh.

Bethany’s not surprised. She’d be bothered, had she been alone, but Martha squeezes her hand tighter and Bethany reminds herself that it doesn’t matter; she has new friends now. Better friends.

  
Fridge is the first person she’s actually happy to see, towering over everyone else in the kitchen, standing like a guard in front of the bottles of liquor set up on the counter.

Bethany whistles lowly, linking her arm with Fridge’s. “Casey went all out this time, huh?”

“A good thing, too.” Fridge glances at her, pulling two red solo cups from the stack beside the vodka. “I was feeling too grown up for this. Exploding cake really makes you reconsider what’s a good time and what’s not.”

“It wasn’t the cake that was explosive,” Martha reminds him.

Fridge shrugs, looks over Bethany’s shoulder at her before looking back at the Grey Goose he’s unscrewing the cap of. He quickly does a double take, cap clattering against the counter.

Bethany steps aside, beaming like a proud mother. Martha squawks indignantly, covering her stomach with her arms - a familiar gesture.

“God damn,” Fridge backs up a step, makes a show out of the slow drag of his eyes from Martha’s legs to her face. “I mean, Bethany, you always look good. But Martha. _God damn_.”

“I know, right?” Bethany sighs wistfully.

Martha had protested vehemently at first, at the cropped hoodie and skintight leather pants Bethany had presented her with, arguing about the logistics of a sweater crop top. She’d complained the entire walk over, combat boots stomping against the pavement, but Bethany noticed it - the way her posture shifted from unsure and small to confident and -

Badass.

She looks a little less confident now, shrinking underneath both Bethany and Fridge’s gaze. “I’m feeling really...really objectified right now.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Bethany teases, and Fridge makes himself busy with their drinks, pouring into their cups what Bethany thinks is a little too much vodka and not enough fruit punch.

“No,” Martha groans, pulling down the hem of her hoodie. She begrudgingly accepts the drink Fridge passes to her, frowning when she lifts it up and smells it.

“I bet it will soon.” She teases, teeth gritting together when she sees him - or a flash of him, relaxed and beautiful against the backdrop of the jungle. Martha had never had alcohol before meeting him, Bethany remembers. She shakes her head, shakes him out.

“Where’s Spencer?” She asks. She glances around the rest of the kitchen, but doesn’t spot his curly brown hair.

Fridge shrugs, screwing the cap back on the bottle. “He thinks he dropped his inhaler in my car.”

Bethany pouts. Martha looks about two seconds from bailing, so Bethany raises her plastic cup, feeling silly. “To being alive!” She toasts.

Fridge snorts, but knocks his cup against hers. “To eating cake.”

Martha hesitates, only for a moment, before raising her drink. “To not getting alcohol poisoning.”

Bethany laughs, red juice sloshing over the edge of her cup and down her wrist as their cups knock together, Fridge bellowing, “Here, here!”

She doesn’t give the actual drink much thought until she’s gulped down three mouthfuls. That was a good party rule she learned a while ago - take three drinks, no matter what it was or how terrible it tasted. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Fridge doesn’t stop at three - not until he drains his cup. Bethany watches Martha hesitate again, before her brows set in determination. She takes a sip and swallows - then another, face screwing up. Bethany sees the shudder run down Martha’s spine, the grimace she makes. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” She repeats, grinning.

Martha groans. “No.”

“I bet it will soon.”

Martha groans again.

.

.

Spencer joins them not too long after Bethany finishes her first drink, sputtering and flushing bright red at the sight of Martha, who’s modest and shy but absolutely shines under his attention. Fridge acts as their bartender again for another round of toasting, and  
Spencer gives a touching, albeit awkward and short speech about how he’s happy with the way things turned out.

They all toast to that, and Bethany means it. Every day isn’t easy but she’s getting there - to happy.

She bullies Martha onto the dance floor somewhere between her third drink and first tequila shot of the night - one she made the redhead join in on. Martha, a great sport and an even better friend, was only overcome with anxiety for a few moments, until a particularly catchy song came on. Fridge pushes Spencer towards them until he and Martha start dancing, hyper aware of themselves and each other and it’s sweet. It makes Bethany blush - in an innocent adolescent kind of way. It’s perfect. It’s everything Bethany wanted for her friends’ first party.

She alternates dancing beside Martha and Spencer, and with Fridge, who’s so tall and makes her feel safe and small and happy in the sea of dancing bodies. They all take turns getting everyone drinks, her and Martha bring back beers, Fridge and Spencer bring back shots. She doesn’t know how long they all dance for - doesn’t know who she dances with, doesn’t know what she’s drinking anymore. Time passes with no meaning, an endless circle of different songs with the same perfect beat.

Everything is easy for the first time in months.

Bethany is happy.

.

.

The Spotify playlist keeping them entranced switches to something indie and slow, and Bethany psyches Martha up about slow dancing with Spencer - a topic already touched on earlier in Bethany’s bedroom. Bethany wants to stay and watch them - but she’s drunk and sweaty and takes the change of pace as an opportunity to get some air.

She doesn’t remember how she ends up here - running her hand against the rough surface of the side of the house, tripping over too-long grass and a garden hose. She laughs to herself - drunk and clumsy - and doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind her.

Not until there’s someone grabbing her by the shoulders, spinning her around.

Bethany would gasp in surprise if her mouth could catch up to her brain (or vice versa), but Noah has her against the side of the house before she can blink, hands on either side of her head, leaning over her. He’s flushed red and smells like beer, and the old Bethany might have felt unthreatened and unsurprised, but Noah made her nervous now. In a different way than before.

“You look so good tonight, baby.” He says, and those words might have made her melt but now they make her nauseous. “I missed you so much.”

Bethany swallows, glancing around. It’s just the two of them, and even though she can hear the chatter of the party and the splashing of water from the pool in the back, there’s no one on this side of the house. They’re alone. “Then let’s go inside?” She asks him softly, voice gentle, trying to soften the look in his eyes. At least until they’re inside and she’s not so alone. “We can dance or talk...just...just back up a little.”

He doesn’t. “I really don’t get it.” He says, brow furrowing deeper. “You used to fucking worship me. Was there someone else?”

“No,” Bethany says quickly. “I just changed. And it’s not like I’m the only girl in the world. See if Lucinda wants to hangout or something -“

“I don’t want her,” Noah bends down and breathes against her ear, hot and sour. “I want you.”

Bethany shuts her eyes tight. “Noah,” his name comes out of her mouth like a whisper. “Please.”

“Hey!”

She opens her eyes at the familiar voice, and Spencer is there, then, pulling Noah away from her. Noah, drunk and gigantic, stumbles easily, and Spencer slides in between the two of them, making it easier to breathe already. Without even trying. “Leave her alone.”

Noah laughs, humorless and angry. “I don’t fucking get this shit,” he says. “You’re acting like a fucking bitch, Bethany.” His eyes narrow on Spencer. “And you,” he says. “You might have grown a pair and convinced everyone else that you’re not the same fucking dork you’ve been your entire life, but I’m not an idiot. Why don’t you go back inside, take your red-headed whore and go home.”

“Don’t call her that,” Spencer says lowly, fists clenching at his side.

Now both Noah and Spencer were looking equally as angry, and Bethany really, really can’t even. “Hey,” Bethany wraps a hand around Spencer’s bicep, but his eyes don’t relax, body tense. “Hey,” She repeats, until he looks at her. “Hey. It’s not worth getting mad over. Let’s go back inside? Spence?”

She’s already pulling him back towards the pool before he can answer, feet dragging until she jerks his arm. He stumbles to catch up to her stride.

They don’t speak until their feet hit the concrete around the crowded pool - Bethany doesn’t even think she breathes. Spencer apologizes to someone that runs past him, and Bethany rolls her eyes, shoulder checking him softly. “You can’t lose your head like that out here, Spencer. You have weaknesses in the real world. You’re not invincible.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything.” Spencer defends.

Bethany smiles. “I know. But I don’t want you getting hurt.” She sighs, and continues, “Thank you, though. I doubt this will be the last time you save me,” She says. “It’s certainly not the first time.”

Spencer looks at her warily. “You let him treat you like that before?”

“He’s not that bad, usually.” And he’s not. Or, he didn’t used to be. Bethany doesn’t really know what he’s like anymore.

Spencer nods his head towards the open sliding glass door, at the people parading in and out of the house. “Let’s go back to the party.”

“Actually...” Bethany’s not in the partying mood anymore. “I’m just going to walk home. You guys stay though, alright? Have fun?”

“Let me at least walk you home,” Spencer sputters, ever the gentleman. “Or let me find Fridge - “

“He is like, 8 jaegarbombs deep,” She says. “And I don’t want you to leave Martha alone. So go - make good bad choices.”

Spencer looks like he’s going to argue with her more, and Bethany expects it when he opens his mouth. But he stares at her slack-jawed, before he says, “You know, I had you all wrong before. I thought you were just some...spoiled blonde airhead. And that you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.” Bethany blinks, but he continues before she can interrupt, “You care about everyone. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.”

“I wasn’t like that before,” Bethany tells him. “Don’t apologize. I’m sure whatever you thought of me was well deserved.”

“I guess some good came out of the game, huh?” Spencer teases her.

Bethany rolls her eyes. Like she hasn’t been reminded of that fact every day for the last 5 months. “I guess, nerd.”

.

.

Bethany likes the walk to her house from Casey’s. Casey’s parents were gone a lot, and they’ve been in the same circle since junior high so it’s a walk Bethany has gotten familiar with. It’s quiet, all side streets and cute houses and cicadas and sprinklers humming. She gets lost in her head as she walks, singing to herself, and she doesn’t even notice the way she’s going until she sees the fence in front of his house.

She slows, without realizing it, until she’s stopped in front of it.

She’d grown up her entire life looking at the Freak house like it was haunted, despite the fact that Mr. Vreeke still lived there. If anything he maybe added to the haunting factor of it all; a heartbroken father a ghost in his own home; the home his son disappeared from. She treated Alex Vreeke and his dad like an urban legend since childhood - everyone in Brantford did. She always stared on the few occasions she saw him outside - watching the old house from the sidewalk across the street distrustfully, ducking beneath the car window when she drove by until she rounded the corner.

It couldn’t be further than how she remembers it in her memory. Where there used to be rotted wood and chipping paint there is now American flag banners, potted plants and Adirondack chairs. The front porch light is on, car in the driveway. It hits her - it always does when she gathers the courage to go down this street - that this was the house he was raised in. The one he was taken from and returned to. She can almost imagine him, his stupid aviator shades, his perfect fucking mouth.

He looks like Seaplane in her head; he always does.

“I hate you,” She tells him, voice echoing in the darkness. She doesn’t know why she says it - really it just slips out.

He doesn’t even live here.

She reality of it creeps up on her, combined with the alcohol she’s consumed and her high high heels, her knees buckle, a little ungracefully. The concrete is cool, a nice contrast to the warm summer night. She’s sure it’s scraping up her leggings but she can’t really focus on that. The moon is bright, illuminating the Freak house beautifully, and it’s almost ironic. How ugly and haunted it used to be - how beautiful and carefree she used to feel.

Bethany laughs, mostly to herself. It wasn’t Martha who was the drama queen. It was her. Did everything with him have to be so drastic? She couldn’t even walk by his childhood home without having a breakdown.

“I hate you,” she repeats to no one, softer. She wishes she meant it, maybe. Or she wishes she thought of him less. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“That’s rude.”

Bethany whips her head around, vision spinning, and doesn’t hide her frown at the double-vision Fridge she sees, walking up to wear she’s sitting on the sidewalk.

He’s crouched beside her by the time he settles back into one person.

She glares at him, “You didn’t drive, did you?”

Fridge has the nerve to roll his eyes at her. “Of course not.”

“You’ve tried to fly a helicopter drunk, before,” she says. “My questioning is well deserved.”

Fridge doesn’t answer, instead he sits down beside her on the ground with a grunt, patting her knee. “How you doing, Professor?”

Bethany shrugs, drunk and pleased that her friend has come for her. Parties weren’t new to Bethany, but friends that stayed after they ended were. So we’re friends that came to find her. “I’m good. How did you know I’d be here?”

Fridge answers with a shrug of his own. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m psychic.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you.” Fridge snorts.

“Can you imagine how happy I’d be?” Bethany sighs, resting her head on his bicep, staring off at the Vreeke house. “If things had worked out?”

“You’d be just like Spencer and Martha. And I don’t need anymore of that.”

That’s not a real answer, she almost complains. But then she remembers maybe she didn’t want a real answer. “You tell me what I need to hear.” She says. “I love that. I love you.”

Fridge cups her cheeks, patting hard enough for her to feel her skin tingle. “I love you, too,” he says, and Bethany almost wonders if he means it. But the look in his eyes in genuine, entertained and warm. “And you’re drunk, so let me walk you home.”

Bethany snorts, already waving him off. But she does except his help up when he extends a hand for her. “I think you’re underestimating my strength, sir. I’ve destroyed a hundred men double your size.”

“Bethany, you weren’t Ruby.”

“ _But I should have been_.”

“B, I don’t want to get into this weird Van Pelt fantasy again.”

Bethany explodes with enthusiasm, clinging to his arm tightly. Their shoes slap against the concrete, loud in her ears. “If I had her abs and her short shorts I could have ended the game in like three seconds! You know that!”

“He was programmed to be evil. You could never have changed him. Let him go.”

“That’s bad advice.” Bethany whines.

They seem to sober up for a second, and the both of them know they’re not talking about Van Pelt anymore.

Fridge sighs, clicks his tongue. “He needed to go back, Beth. You know that.”

Bethany knows that. “I know that. But...” Bethany looks up at the sky, cloudy and starless and really she’s just trying to stop her tears from falling. Even if her voice breaks, she at least doesn’t want to ruin her mascara. “I never got to say goodbye. And I’m so happy he’s okay and got to live a happy life. And his children are beautiful and I bet his wife is beautiful. And I just wanted him to be happy. And if he’s happy now then I’m happy too.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Fridge asks. “Me? Or you.”

Bethany knows the answer to that; knows that sooner or later she’d have to sober up and deal with things like an almost-adult.  But she knows naivety is easier than facing the truth, hurts less, too - and she was happy to play along for as long as she could.

“I’m happy.” Bethany repeats firmly. “Really, I am.”

They’re silent for a while, until they reach Bethany’s street. They stop a few houses down to say goodbye, mindful and paranoid of her parents bedroom window right in front of the house facing the street. 

Fridge watches her while she digs through her purse to double check she still has her phone on her. She makes a happy noise when she finds it, one he interrupts with, “The game changed you for the better, Bethany. It made you more beautiful where it matters. But feeling upset about something doesn’t ruin anything about it. You’re allowed to be unhappy with your situation.”

It’s...it’s surprisingly deep, but they’re both drunk and really, it’s not that surprising coming from Fridge, who has always treated her gently and kindly, even before the game.

Bethany reaches up and cups his cheek, tilts her head back because now she feels like crying again. “The game changed you for the better, too.”

Fridge shrugs her off, clearly embarrassed. “I did a lot of self-reflecting during the game,” he says. “While I was trying not to die or get run over by rhinos or whatever. Being 5 foot really makes you see things from a different point of view.”

“That’s beautiful,” Bethany cries.

.

.

Bethany has snuck out and into her bedroom so many times over the years that it’s easier than using the front door at this point, even while as emotionally unstable as she currently was - even in heels. Even on the second floor. The oak tree conveniently next to her window was sturdy and tall - one she used to swing on as a kid. It felt a little sacrilegious, almost, to use what used to be a fond childhood memory as a step-stool but Bethany repressed that guilt a long time ago.

She spins around once she lands on her feet in her room, and if there’s a transition from when she’s surveying her things with drunk fascination, to where she currently was on her bed, she doesn’t remember it.

She’s drunk and emotional and she really doesn’t even realize she has the letter from Alex in her hands until she’s holding it, looking up at it, squinting against the harshness of her ceiling light. If she was in her right mind she might not even open it, but she’s not so she does, tearing it open a little recklessly.

It’s one page. Four short paragraphs.

 _Bethany_ , it starts, and already Bethany is seeing his words blurrier and blurrier. Just her name in his messy, hurried handwriting is enough to break her fucking heart. Part of her wants to tear it up before she can read the rest - spare herself some heartache. But she knows herself enough to know it won’t stop hurting until she has closure. And if this was all the closure she was going to get...she’d have to be satisfied with that. She’d have to hold her breath and get it over with.

_  
I’ve put off writing this letter for a long time now. In every draft I’ve written in the past I was writing to a person that was you, but wasn’t. Meeting you outside my parents’ house after all that time unearthed a lot of old feelings, so I’ll try to make this brief before I say something embarrassing._

_I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye. Even though our time together in the game was short, you impacted my life deeply. I think about you and the others often, especially when I look at my Beth._

_For a long time the thought of you put me at ease, but lately it’s been making me feel restless. ~~Maybe I’m having a midlife crisis~~. I think it’s because I know that the You in my head and the You from the game aren’t the same person anymore. I’ve played over our time in the game so many times I don’t know what actually happened and what didn’t. What I said and didn’t say. That sounds pathetic in my head but I had 1 day to get to know you and 20 years to fill in the blanks and my memory is nothing like what it used to be so cut me some slack._

_(That last part was a joke, if you couldn’t tell. Haha.)_

_The point of this is that I’d like to meet up soon, and get to know You. The real you. The Bethany reading this. And if we run out of things to say we could always talk about the game. It would be nice to not have to wonder what’s real._

_You’ll be hearing from me._

_Alex_

 

That’s...

That’s nothing.

That leaves Bethany with more questions than answers. She wanted closure and all she got was confusion. She re-reads it, reads parts of it a dozen times over (“ _What I said and didn’t say_ ”) because she’s drunk and it’s blowing her mind and it’s her own fault for doing this now and telling herself to not have expectations but still having a million.

Her phone chirps beside her, wakes her up from her Alex Vreeke-induced fog, and she hurries to answer; her mom was a light sleeper and Bethany didn’t need her waking up to a missing Martha and a distraught daughter.

“Yeah?” She answers, voice breaking.

Martha’s voice is loud, and it takes Bethany a moment to register her words, but it’s a relief - a distraction. She’d fallen (or, forced herself) down a hole and was seconds away from completely shattering into nothing. “How do I get inside your house?” Martha asks, and Bethany hears Spencer whispering in the background. “The door?”

“No, no.” Bethany tells her, standing from the bed. She wipes her eyes on the back of her arm. “Come around the back. I’ll show you.”

She goes to the window, already open from her re-entry. She’s still holding onto the letter - she wants to show Martha, she needs to talk to someone, anyone. But what could Martha say to make her feel better that she hasn’t already told herself? She’d give a fresh perspective on the letter but ultimately did it even matter?

He’s not the same as he was 20 years ago, Bethany tells herself if only to make herself feel better. She was delaying the inevitable. She was being naive, heart hopeful despite her brain telling her what a bad idea clinging to the thought of him was.

Confused and broken and drunk, Bethany crumples the letter in her hands, yanking open her desk drawer to shove it back inside.

 _It’s over_ , she tells herself. It’s been over for 20 years. This didn’t change anything.

She slams the same drawer shut for the second time.

Still, this time when she shuts it, it feels like the door stays open -

  
A problem she thinks she’ll deal with in the morning.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s with that tone?”
> 
> “What tone?”
> 
> “That ‘poor pathetic little girl’ tone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: my writing style is so all over the place, I literally have so much of this story written and I’ve been avoiding finishing this chapter because I want to keep focusing on later ones. I need to learn to be more patient and enjoy the ride. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this or commented or liked it. Your feedback means the world to me. Good vibes only Summer 2k18 stay hydrated and stay safe

.

 

.

 

She waits a week - then another.

She tries not to be so impatient but - his letter had said that Alex would be contacting her, and soon.Soon was relative to everyone, sure, but at the end of the second week with no contact from him, Bethany is starting to wonder if her definition of ‘soon’ was different; a byproduct of a lifetime of getting the things she wanted within a reasonable time of wanting them.

By the third week, she’s only a few days away from the end of the school year, on the cusp of the summer before her last year of high school ever, and just about ready to jump out of her skin - every text message and every call she receives enough to drive her crazy.

She’s lucky at least that she has testing to keep her mind distracted from him, her nights spent studying with Martha rather than staring at her phone, waiting for it to ring. Sure, she does it a little when she gets home, but she’s only human.

Still, she can’t help but feel like she’s reaching her limit, in a constant state of petulant annoyance.Why send her a letter after 5 months of silence if he wasn’t going to follow through with actually calling her?

The reasonable part of her, as always, tries to settle her spiraling thoughts.He waited 20 years for her to even be born, Bethany reminds herself. She can wait a few more weeks.

Still, the part of her that was all heartbroken tragedy and Nicholas Sparks novels - the sixteen year old part - echos the same thought on repeat in the back of her mind.

How long was she going to have to wait?

 

.

 

.

 

Spencer is waiting for her at the front of the school around 6th period, anxiously hopping from foot to foot, looking only moments away from passing out. 

Bethany almost rolls her eyes; some of Bravestone’s courageousness made it back into the real world, but Bethany wonders if Spencer would ever get over his fear of academic expulsion.Still, it’s sweet of him to meet her like this, especially during the school day.

He relaxes a little when he sees her walking up, at least. “Hey,” he says, voice an octave high and breaking a bit.He clears his throat. “It’s hot. Is it hot?”

“Yes Spencer,” Bethany says, squinting at the sky - at the blinding sun. “It’s almost summer.” She looks back down at him. “Do you have the thing?”

He shushes her loudly, whipping his head back and forth to look around - like they weren’t the only two people out there. Bethany sighs and rolls her eyes. Again. “Would you relax? It’s not like you’re doing anything bad - like helping me cheat.”

Spencer pales - if possible. “Fridge told you about that?” Bethany crosses her arms and gives him a look; one he shrinks under. “I know, I know. I know it’s different. Just, last time I did this...you know what happened.”

Bethany sighs. “It’s not even the same thing, and it’s not gonna happen again, Spence. And I really, really appreciate your help.”

Spencer seems to relax, slinging his backpack over his shoulder so he can unzip it and pull a folder out, handing it to her quickly. It almost feels like a drug deal. A really lame drug deal. “I don’t mind,” He says. “Sorry if it’s not what you had in mind; the one you made needed major improvement so I just started over from scratch.”

Bethany flips the folder open, scans the paper inside. “And what was wrong with mine?”

“No offense, Bethany, but no future employer is going to care that you have 6 thousand Instagram followers.”

That’s absolutely inaccurate. “Uh, they would if they cared about marketing at all.”

Spencer wisely doesn’t answer. Instead he asks, “Why’d you need a new resume anyway? Is your dad making you get a job?”

Bethany shrugs. She’s not gonna tell him the real reason; about how she doesn’t think she can handle all that free time alone with her thoughts. Or, she couldn’t handle it when her thoughts consisted of pretty much one thing. So instead she says, “I should probably start saving for a car. Or school or something.”

Spencer looks bummed, face falling. “What about all of our summer plans?”

Bethany reaches up to pat his curly hair consolingly. “Don’t worry, if I’m not at work or watching Hunter, I’ll be with you guys.And we still have movie night every Friday, right?”

The bell rings above their heads before Spencer can answer, and Bethany steps away from the side of the building, towards the road. She definitely doesn’t need anyone from the school administration dragging her to class on her day off. “You’d better get to class.”

Spencer adjusts the backpack on his shoulders. “You know, if you were feeling sick I could have brought it to you after school. You didn’t have to walk all the way here.”

“I’m not sick,” Bethany tells him. “It’s senior ditch day.”

“But you’re a junior.”

Bethany waves her hand dismissively. “Details.”

Spencer takes a quick step forward. “Wait, will you sign my yearbook?”

Bethany tilts her head. “Seriously? I didn’t think you’d be into that.”

“Well, I mean - you signed it last year.”

Bethany squints at him. “I did?”

He smiles, lopsided and endearing. “You called me Steven.”

“Oh my god, no I didn’t.”

“You did. You said, ‘Have a good summer, Steven. Get well soon.’”

“Weren’t you sick?” She asks hopefully.

Spencer’s smile twists nervously - and Bethany can see that he might lie to make her feel better. “Well...not - “

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, unable to watch that unfold. She’s been trying to step outside of her Hot Popular Girl Bubble, as Martha called it - and take responsibility for past Bethany’s selfish actions. “Why don’t you bring it tonight? So I have time to write something better than last years.”

“Anything would be better than last years.”

 

.

 

.

 

 **From** : _Mouse Fin_    
**To** : _One Group Chat to Rule Them All_

Whose turn is it to pick the movie

 

 **From** : _Bravestone  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

Yours I think. Might I suggest the Killing of a Sacred Deer? It’s supposed to be great

 

 **From** : _Mouse Fin  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

No you may not.

 

Bethany tries not to let the disappointment show on her face when she feels her phone vibrate in her bag and pulls it out to find that it’s only the group chat.

Not that the group chat isn’t super entertaining, but that’s been her general reaction to everyone that texted or called her for the last few weeks. If they weren’t Alex Vreeke, why were they calling her?

She hates that the thinks like that, denies that she thinks like that most of the time, but she can’t deny the way her lips want to turn down. But it is the group chat; she can’t be properly annoyed by it.But she can still be a little annoyed by it, so she sends an eye roll emoji and leaves it at that

 

 **From** : _Ruby Roundhouse  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

I don’t want to watch Pulp Fiction again Fridge

 

 **From** : _Fridge  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

Can y’all chill I wasn’t going to pick that

 

 **From** : _Fridge  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

Probably wasn’t going to anyway

 

Bethany had already dropped her resume off at several different stores; the boutique downtown, the coffee stand, the old-fashioned candy shop (even though she knew she was pressing her luck there - she’s only seen like, three people in that store ever, she doubts they were scrambling for help).

And that eventually led her to the small trendy froyo shop, usually slammed whenever she comes but right now it’s basically empty, aside from the employee at the register and a mother and child, quietly keeping to themselves. She’d asked the friendly albeit bored-looking girl at the counter if she could pass Bethany’s resume along to the hiring manager, unbeknownst to Bethany that she was the hiring manager, and she’d only asked Bethany’s age and availability before suggesting they do a quick interview on the spot, since Bethany was already there.

The girl interviewing her is pretty, all long brown hair and sparkling green anime eyes with the prettiest Instagram-level eyelash extensions Bethany has ever seen in real life. Her tan is enviable too - Bethany reminds herself to ask what kind of tanning lotion she uses.

They’re sitting at one of those corner booths next to the giant chalkboard wall, with Bethany sipping her complimentary strawberry smoothie while the brunette - Amanda - looks through her resume.

The look on her face is promising; Bethany would have to thank Spencer again later.

“Volleyball, lifeguard, cheer - are you me?”

Bethany smiles, laughs through her mandatory set of questions and charms her way out of seeming inexperienced when she asks about her previous employment. But like, she’s 16; it’s not like she’s had time to wrack up employment opportunities. And it’s not like anyone would believe her if she wrote, ‘ _single-handedly navigated a small team through a dangerous, hippopotamus-infested video-game jungle and only died twice_ ’.

“So why do you want to work here?” Amanda asks. “Parents making you get a job?”

Bethany plasters on her best customer service smile; two years of Invisalign better start paying off. “No,” Bethany says, twirling the straw of her smoothie absently. “I feel like next year I’ll be too busy to worry about this stuff, so getting experience now seems like a good idea. Plus having an actual job might make me feel productive, you know? Instead of laying by the pool all summer.”

Amanda smiles and says, “I really just want a cute girl with a friendly personality to bring people in - and someone I wouldn’t mind hanging out with all day. The actual job isn’t that hard.” She continues, “I’ll need to run this by my supervisor first, but I can confidently say that you’ll be hearing from me soon.”

It’s another perfect example of getting the things she wanted shortly after she wanted them. It’s a good sign, she thinks; one she’s going to push into every other aspect of her life.Her phone still feels heavy in her pocket, but she hasn’t completely lost hope.

Bethany leaves the shop with butterflies in her stomach, a brain freeze - and probably a job.

 

.

 

.

 

“Bethany, you look so cute in this picture.”

Bethany leans over Spencer’s head to look at the page Martha is showing her in her yearbook - at the photo of her and Noah, Homecoming King and Queen. The sight of it makes her want to vomit, but Bethany has to admit she looks happy - even in that baby blue strapless dress she should have had the common sense to veto. And those earrings, what was she thinking?

She must be making a face because Spencer suggests, “Maybe we can scribble his face out.”

“It’s weird,” Martha says, tilting her head and the yearbook in opposite directions. “I feel like I’m looking at a totally different person.”

“You are,” Bethany tells her, pointing at her high-res, smiling face. “Look at that lipstick color. Totally Old Bethany.”

“Are you gonna use Old Bethany as an excuse for all the things you regret?”

“Yes,” She waves her hand dismissively.

Her attention is pulled from the yearbook, to Fridge, who stands with his hands on his hips, looking down at the three of them. “Oh wow,” He says. “I thought it was movie night, not yearbook signing night.”

“Say movie night again,” Martha teases. “It was so cute.”

“Movie night,” he enunciates clearly. “This shit’s sacred, I ask that you respect it.”

Bethany rolls her eyes. “Why are you whining? Are you hungry?” She reaches out for him with one hand, and with the other pats the empty seat next to her on the couch. “Come sit down until the pizza bagels are done.”

Fridge waves the DVD in his hand. “If I sit down who will put in the movie?”

“Spencer.”

“Nah,” Fridge shakes his head, immediately. “He’s gonna change it to something weird and European last minute. I’m not doing subtitles today.”

Spencer protests from the floor. “I am not.”

“Well I’m not taking chances.” Fridge says.

Spencer and Martha are on their usual spots on the floor - leaving the couch to Fridge and Bethany. Which might suck for anyone sharing a couch with Fridge-sized Fridge, but it reclines so Bethany isn’t particularly bothered.Plus he always shares his blanket.

“Can you stop being a baby and go get your yearbook from your room?” Martha asks. “I promise I’ll respect movie night right after I sign it.”

That was the invitation he was waiting for, apparently. “Yup,” he says, tossing the DVD to unsuspecting Spencer before he tears up the stairs. 

“I guess I’ll put this in!” Spencer calls after him. 

It doesn’t take long for his return, and soon Bethany has his yearbook in her lap, trying to write neatly while Martha writes in hers and Fridge and Spencer argue over the movie - again.

Fridge surprises everyone and doesn’t pick Pulp Fiction (even though Bethany swears she sees his hand hesitate over it when he was picking a movie from the shelf).He ends up choosing The Boondock Saints, which isn’t as terrible of a movie as Bethany assumed it was; the guy from The Walking Dead is really cute, at least, and she’s not really paying much attention anyway, finishing the page-long heartfelt message in Fridge’s yearbook before she moves onto Martha’s.

The opening credits roll as Fridge’s mom comes down the stairs with a giant serving plate of pizza bites and cut up celery and carrots which Bethany knows no one will eat but her and Martha.

“I’m so glad Anthony has all of you,” She sighs wistfully, smoothing a hand down the top of Fridge’s head, even when he shrugs her off, embarrassed. “Those boys he used to hangout with, well - “

“Ma,” Fridge interrupts. “You say this every movie night.”

“Because it’s true,” she says.

 

The night moves on as it normally does. Fridge, the secret cinephile, hushes Spencer loudly when he asks for a bagel bite, Bethany scrolls through Instagram and Martha doses off on Spencer’s shoulder.They stay that way for two hours, and at the end of the movie after Fridge switches the lights back on, the conversation turns to exams and the upcoming summer.

“We should go hiking all the time,” Fridge says.“But nowhere we can get eaten by albino rhinos.”

“Those aren’t a real thing,” Martha reminds him.

“Oh, they’re real.” Fridges eyes close as he shudders. “Very real.”

It’s a good time to bring it up, Bethany thinks, with everyone happy and full of pizza bagels - with the game now a topic of conversation. She debates for a moment just...not bringing it up at all, like she’s been doing for the past month, but -

“So...” Bethany swallows nervously. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous - it’s just the gang. The gang full of people who love and care about her. And they know Alex. They trust Alex. Why was this filling her with dread? “I got a letter from Alex.”

Spencer and Fridge turn and look at her, raised brows. 

“After all this time? What did it say?”

Fridge is looking at her with a concern she doesn’t think she wants to notice; a sweet, genuine concern that only friends can feel, but she doesn’t - she doesn’t want him to think that he needs to be concerned in the first place. She can take care of herself. She shouldn’t have gotten drunk and emotional in front of him; she clearly ruined the put-together vibe she was trying to radiate.

Still, it’s too sweet for her to feel properly annoyed by it.

“Nothing. He sent it a month ago. He said he wants to get together...to catch up.”

“Well?” Spencer tilts his head.“Are you going to meet him?”

“I want to,” She says, and then realizes how desperate she must seem. “You know, I’m worried about him.”

“Should we come with you?” Fridge asks. “In case?”

“In case of what?” She stretches out her legs, puts her feet on him. “It’s just Alex. I’ll be fine. Besides, he hasn’t even called me to like, set up a time or whatever. And it’s been three weeks.”

“Aw,” Spencer reaches across Martha’s head to pat Bethany’s knee consolingly, the asshole. “I’m sure he will.”

“Hey,” Bethany narrows her eyes. “What’s with that tone?”

“What tone?”

“That ‘ _poor pathetic little girl_ ’ tone.”

“I wasn’t using that tone.”

Bethany makes a face, then sits up, reaching out. “Give me your yearbook. You deserve to have something mean written in it.”

Spencer sighs, and hands her his yearbook. “Fine.”

She doesn’t write anything mean, even if she looks at him every few seconds and makes a face, just to keep him in suspense.She’s honest - has been honest in Martha’s and Fridge’s yearbooks too. She writes about how happy she is that the game brought them together, how she admires his bravery and badass-ary, even outside the game. Even when he’s being a big old dork. She tells him how she hopes they never grow apart even after they graduate - she even doodles a little picture of cartoon Shelly Oberon and Dr. Bravestone high fiving, comically large hat and glasses next to ridiculous stick-figure muscles.

When she’s finished she shuts it loudly, pages clapping together, and hands it back over to him.

She watches him flip to the page she’s filled, watches his face as he reads it, rolling her eyes at the look he gets the further he reads down.By the time he looks up at her she swears his eyes are a little glassy.“That’s actually so sweet, wow, Bethany - “

“Look in the back,” she tells him. “I wrote another.”

“You did?”

He flips the pages of his yearbook to the back, then looks at her, face blank. “Really?”

Martha cranes her neck to look. “What did she write?”

“‘See you next year, Steven’.”

 

.

 

.

 

It’s a little after 10 when Bethany gets home. She doesn’t have a curfew on Friday’s or Saturdays, so there’s no need to sneak inside her window, and her parents greet her warmly from the couch.Her father is proud of her for her probably-job, gets up and hugs her, even checks her softly and affectionately on the chin like he does when he’s feeling particularly fond of her, while her mom pesters her for details and it’s embarrassing enough to have her hightailing to her bedroom.

She flops onto her stomach on her bed, pulling her yearbook from her bag. 

She loves the last few weeks of classes specifically for this; for signing yearbooks and having hers signed. She has all of them from every previous grade, every available page filled with well-wishes and phone numbers from names she can’t really put faces to.

She loves her new yearbook. She loves that the only people who have signed it so far are the people that genuinely care for her. There’s no insincere ‘never change’’s or declarations of absolutely needing to hangout when they’ve barely even spoke, no phone numbers she was never going to save.

She reads the messages from her friends and wants to cry; she can barely get through Spencer’s sweet paragraph, nearly bawls at Martha’s, which takes up an entire page, front and back.

Fridge has always been more reserved with his feelings, but even his is sugar-sweet, about how much he appreciates her friendship and ho he can talk to her in a way he can’t with anyone else.

Bethany thinks she shouldn’t be so sad about Alex - not when she has friends that fill the empty space he left inside her so genuinely.

.

 

.

The end of the school year comes and goes faster than Bethany is prepared for.In between working, babysitting and school, the last month of junior year seems to fly by, and before she knows it her and Spencer are walking out of English class for the last time as juniors.

“This summer is going to be amazing,” He says, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “Even with your job.”

“Wow,” Bethany raises her brows. “That’s certainly a change in attitude.”

He’s got a dopey little look on his face. “Don’t you feel it?”

Bethany doesn’t really give him an answer, if only because she’s so caught up in the fact that yeah - she has felt it. The past few weeks have felt like a pressure building inside of her; like she was headed for something monumental (or maybe horrific?), only she couldn’t see what it was and she couldn’t stop it if she tried.

Maybe it was just her own impatience, but either way it’s scary - because it seems like she’s always been able to control what’s happening around her. But something about it is thrilling; like the next chapter of her life is going to begin.

She’s just hoping the ending - good or bad - isn’t so anticlimactic.

 

.

 

.

 

School stops and work starts and it seamlessly folds into routine without Bethany noticing.The first few shifts were nerve-wracking, and Bethany had to remind herself that the mandatory uniform visor was not an acceptable reason to quit. Besides, she’s worn much uglier hats before; Sheldon Oberon might have been a genius but he had no taste. Seriously.

She picks it up pretty quickly - she thanks all of those volleyball fundraisers forcing her to work the concession stand at the football games her sophomore year.

Amanda is a great boss; she blasts Lady Gaga on the loudspeaker when they close, let’s Bethany grab as much free yogurt as she wants, talks in depth about her relationship problems (ever changing and overcomplicated) which Bethany loves, and she smokes weed out back, which Bethany doesn’t participate in, but she doesn’t admire the boldness of.

It’s a typical Tuesday, and during the summer it’s gets busy and stays steady around noon, but it’s only 11am and no one is there besides Bethany, Amanda having to run to the franchise in the town over to borrow something she forgot to order.

She hears the bell ring while she’s cutting up strawberries in the back, and she calls out that she’ll be right there. She hurries to stash everything in the fridge, pulling off her food handling gloves.

Noah is standing in the lobby in his running gear, looking at the flavors listed on the wall.

He looks at her when she steps back behind the counter, expression guilty.

“Hey,” he says.

Bethany doesn’t say anything - what was there to say anyway? He definitely crossed a line, drunk or not. There were lines that when crossed could be forgiven, and there were some that couldn’t. And from the look on his face, Bethany guarantees that Noah knows that.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says. “For Casey’s party. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” Bethany tells him, even though it really isn’t. But she doesn’t really want to start a dialogue with him, and definitely not while she’s alone at work.

“It’s not,” he says, insistent. “I’m...I’m glad you’re happy. I really am. I guess I just don’t know what happened? And I acted out. And I’m sorry. Really.”

Bethany looks at him - really looks.She used to study his face and think that there was no one else that she’d ever want, that the things he put her through emotionally were fine as long as he was looking down at her the way he was now.Months spent staring weren’t wasted, as she’s been able to tell just from the look in his eyes if he was genuine or not.Genuine when he told her that he thought she was beautiful, not so much when he said he didn’t fool around with other girls.

He’s being honest now, anyway. So she thanks him, “Thank you, Noah. That means a lot.”

He smiles, boyish and charming. “We were all going to go to the beach tonight,” He tells her. “Lucinda and everyone else. You should come.”

“Me and Lucinda aren’t really on speaking terms,” Bethany tells him. Which is just as true as much as it is an excuse to not go. 

“Forget about her then. It might be nice,” he says. “To see some of your other friends.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She has no intention of going, no part of that thought appealing in the slightest. If she wanted to see her old friends, she would call them. There’s a reason she hasn’t.“I’m babysitting Hunter tomorrow so I’m not trying to be out all night.” Another lie; Hunter was going to her Grandparents house, and Bethany was going to lay by the pool - but he didn’t need to know that.

“Think about it,” Noah says. “Please? I know you’re probably worried...about me, but - I want to make it up to you.”

The bell of the door sounds out, and they both turn to find two parents ushering their children inside.Bethany calls out a greeting before turning back to Noah. “I have to get back to work.”

He sighs, scratches the back of his head - like he hasn’t quite finished what he wanted to say, but Bethany thinks she’s heard enough. He says, “I’ll call you later, okay? Think about it. Please.”

He’s gone before Bethany can tell him not to bother calling, that her mind was pretty much made up.

It’s fine, she reasons. She could always just not answer. 

 

.

 

.

 

And that’s what she intends, when her phone rings sometime a little past 8.

But she was Noah’s girlfriend for a while; she knows he won’t stop calling unless she answers. So she picks up without thinking - practiced excuse already making its way past her lips. “Noah,” she says. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“Uh,” a voice answers, deep and definitely not Noah’s. “Bethany?”

Just her name is enough to make her breath catch in her throat, and suddenly she wishes it was Noah calling after all. That would make things a lot simpler. Easier.

 

Less terrifying.

 

“Hello? Bethany? It’s Alex.” Alex’s voice clicks with static - loud, like he’s in the car.

She covers the receiver and clears her throat, stalling for time. She’s thought about this more times that she could count, more than she should have. It was much easier in theory.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to be calling so late,” he says. “I uh, hope you got my letter. So you’re not completely blindsided by my calling.”

“I got it,” She says, heartbeat almost a physical pounding in her ears. “How did you get my address?”

“The phone book,” Alex tells her.

Bethany blinks. “The phone book?” She repeats it, doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question but - but were phonebooks even a thing anymore? “Who still uses phonebooks?”

There’s a brief pause, where the only thing Bethany can hear is the sound of her own heart beating in her ears, and the static on the other end. She begins to worry - and berate herself. The first time she’s heard his voice in 6 months and she has to tease him - 

The sound of his laugher interrupts her thoughts, and fuck she missed him so much she can feel her heart aching. “I don’t remember you being this mouthy.”

She smiles despite her nerves, lips moving without her permission. “That was 20 years ago,” she teases. “I’ve grown so much since then.”

The second it leaves her mouth she pours back over it in her head. It was so easy talking to him, felt the same as she remembered, but this - this is a different Alex. An older Alex. She should be more careful with the things she says.

Which would be impossible, her filter was basically nonexistent.

But Alex hums good-humoredly. “So?” He starts, expectant. “You’ll be a senior next year, right? Enjoying your last summer of freedom? Living life to the fullest?”

Bethany snorts a laugh. “Barely,” she says. “In between babysitting my brother and working I don’t really have time.”

Another pause - one Bethany holds her breath during - and then Alex says, “I didn’t know you had a brother. Or a job.”

She rolls onto her stomach, picks at the loose string on her blanket. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Hunter - he’s turning 6 next month. And I work at the froyo shop in town.”

“Decided to leave cartography behind?” He jokes with her, and her heart hammers wildly in her chest.

“I’ll pick it back up when you start piloting again,” she teases right back.

Alex is quiet for another second, before he asks, “Well if you’re not babysitting or working tomorrow, do you think we could meet somewhere?”

Bethany doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely. Where?”

Alex doesn’t hesitate either. “That coffee shop next to the library downtown. Whole Bean I think?”

Bethany agrees, or at least she thinks she does, so caught up in his voice that she forgets to pay attention to what she’s saying. She hangs up the phone after an awkward goodbye, with her stuttering and interrupting him and him interrupting her and then stopping to let her finish.

It might be cute if she wasn’t so nervous, but she is so she covers her face with her arm, even if he can’t see her. 

Her room is startlingly silent as she stares at her phone, at his number on the screen.  She saves it immediately, fingers shaking while she types in his name. 

Bethany is positive that if they were still in the game, she might hear drums right about now. 

 

On to the next level.

 

.

 

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'It’s not a date," Bethany tells her. "He’s got a wife, remember? And kids.”
> 
> Martha snorts, clearly unbothered. “I doubt his wife saved his life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could begin to describe just how much the support I’ve gotten for this fic means to me. Every kudos and positive comment totally makes me geek out, and I cherish every one. Thank you all for your continued kindness and patience as I try to articulate the jumbled mess of ideas and emotions this fic has become. 
> 
> This is a pretty beefy chapter, and while I’m definitely satisfied with this work as a whole, I’ll more than likely be nitpicking and re-working the completed chapters while writing the upcoming ones. I’ll be sure to make a note if I change anything too drastically. Also, I’m planning a summary change to replace the current half-assed summary and to give readers a better feel for this fic, but the title will remain the same! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all of the support you’ve shown me and my fanfic. Continue to keep yourselves safe and hydrated this summer!

.

 

.

 

“Okay, what about this?”

 

Martha looks up from the magazine she’s flipping through on Bethany’s bed to where the blonde is standing in front of her closet. Her eyes narrow as they rake over Bethany from head to toe. “Uh, it’s kind of ‘trying too hard’? I think?”

Bethany sighs, turns and faces her full length mirror.It’s a nice dress, all crisp white lace and pretty blue chiffon. But Martha is right - it is kind of trying too hard.She sighs, peels off her dress and hangs it back up in the closet. She’s starting to feel a little overheated; she’s already lost count of how many outfits she’s tried on and had vetoed.“Maybe I should just wear jeans.”

“Hey,” Martha says sharply. “That would be giving up completely, and I’m not gonna let that happen. Not on this historic day.”

Bethany is tired of hearing Martha call it that - a historic day, or whatever - but she doesn’t have the will to correct her. She doesn’t have the will do to anything but whine in front of her mirror.“I’m anxious,” Bethany says, hand over her stomach. “I feel bloated.”

Martha sighs, swings her legs off the bed and joins Bethany in front of the closet. Bethany thinks she might be having deja vu - but she can’t focus on it long enough to tell, thoughts spiraling and all over the place. Martha pushes aside most of her clothes, to the nicer ones Bethany hangs in the back.

She grabs a fistful of white floral-printed fabric, inspects the hem. “What about this...shorts dress thing. It’s really pretty.”

“It’s called a romper. And the waist falls kind of weird. It makes me look like I have no shape and a belt doesn’t look good with it.”

“So wear a jacket,” Martha says, like it’s the most simple thing in the world, and Bethany blinks at her owlishly.

She pulls it from the hanger and steps into it, fits the straps to wear she likes them, just low enough to show a hint of cleavage but with a high enough neckline to still be considered appropriate. It’s still as shapeless as she remembers - her own fault for buying something from that mom-store Talbots, but she takes her favorite denim jacket from where it’s hanging behind her desk chair and slides her arms through it before she faces the mirror once again.

Wow. That’s - that’s a lot better. She doesn’t look like she’s ‘trying too hard’; her jacket simple enough to be casual, but something about the length of the romper - where it ends mid thigh, the delicate fabric...

“Damn,” Martha says. “That is literally the perfect outfit for The Date. Capital T, capital D. **T-M**. What shoes are you gonna wear?”

“Stop verbally trademarking things,” Bethany tells her. “It’s only funny over text. And it’s not a _date_. He’s got a wife, remember? And kids.”

Martha snorts, clearly unbothered. “I doubt his wife saved his life.”

Bethany shakes her head, refuses to give that any thought. “You might not look it but you’re actually kind of scary.”

Martha shrugs. “I’m just trying to be supportive.”

Bethany looks at herself in the mirror - practices her smile and tries her hardest not to look so miserable but - the wife comment ruined her mood, even if she’s the one that said it, and it shows on her face, lips curling in displeasure against her will.It’s a terrible reminder, one that Bethany tries not to think about too often, but it still somehow manages to creep up on her when she’s least expecting it - or when she’s trying to deny it the hardest.

Bethany swallows, nervous. “What if he brings her?”

Martha manages to look happy, at least, chin on Bethany’s shoulder and she is _definitely_ having deja vu.“Then smile your pretty smile, be sweet and charming and classy, remind him of what could have been, and make his wife wish she was you. Duh.”

“Okay, there’s no kind of about it,” Bethany tells her. “You’re definitely scary.”

“I know,” Martha says, unbothered. “Now shoes!”

 

Bethany digs her sandals out of the back of her closet, entertains Martha by spinning around as many times as she demands, posing when she asks.She’s even stays still for the picture Martha takes of her, and her phone vibrates seconds later with a notification from the group chat.

 

 **From** : _Ruby Roundhouse_  
**To** : _OGCTRTA    
_**1 image attached**

 Wish this nervous wreck luck

 

Bethany scowls at her through the mirror after she checks her phone. “I’m not a nervous wreck.”

Martha gives her a look, and Bethany sighs. Again. She’s constantly sighing, it’s a wonder she even has air left in her lungs. “Okay,” She concedes. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.”

“And that’s alright,” Martha says. “I would be nervous too. But everything is gonna be fine. It’s Alex.”

Bethany pouts. “Exactly. I don’t even know what to say to him.”

Martha’s got a glittery look in her eyes. She climbs onto Bethany’s bed, sits cross legged and faces where Bethany is still standing. Bethany wishes she could relax her body long enough for her to sit down.

“Practice on me.” Martha says.

Bethany rolls her eyes, protest on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitates because...that actually might help.

Until Martha takes a lock of pretty red hair and pulls it underneath her nose like a mustache, eyebrows narrowed, expression serious.

It’s so ridiculous Bethany can do little else but blink at her. “Alex doesn’t have a mustache.”

“He might have grown one,” Martha says, hair moving with every word. “How would you know?”

Bethany groans, turns around so she doesn’t have to look at Martha and her hair-mustache, slumps forward miserably until her head hits the mirror. “I wouldn’t.” She says. “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

“Why are you so worried?” Martha asks. “You’re like, the _queen_ of flirting with guys.”

“But I don’t even know how to flirt anymore.” Bethany whines. “And I _definitely_ don’t know how to flirt with _Alex_. Grown up Alex.”

Martha looks at her like she’s grown three heads, and with how completely insecure she’s feeling, Bethany might as well have. “Dumb, super into it, or nasty! Flip your hair, sparkle like an anime character!Bethany, you taught _me_ this!”

Bethany knows, just like she knows how unlike herself Alex makes her. Or maybe she's got it backwards; maybe he chipped away at her conceited exterior in the game, unearthing a better version of herself than Bethany could have hoped for. She just wished this version knew how to flirt. “That’s with other guys.” She says. “Insignificant guys. Guys our age who don’t have wives.” _Guys that aren’t Alex Vreeke_. 

Bethany unsticks herself from the mirror, looks at her reflection again just to make sure she still looks okay, eyes focusing on how the ends of her hair are starting to frizz and now the foundation on her forehead is partially wiped away, smudging the mirror, and did she miss a section when shaving? -

That overwhelmed feeling is back, and she looks away before she goes insane with self criticism, turning back around towards Martha, who thankfully has abandoned her mustache.

“Thank you so much for coming over.” She tells the redhead. “I was freaking out.”

“Rightfully so.” Martha says. “This is Alex. This is _The Date. **T-M**_.”

Great. Because that’s exactly what Bethany wants to hear right now.

Martha laughs at the sour look on her face. “I’m kidding. You look amazing.  If anyone should be nervous it’s him.”

Bethany fidgets with the hem of her romper. “How did you know that - about the jacket?”

Martha shrugs. “My mom and I watch a lot of ‘What Not to Wear’.” She says. She hesitates, only a second. “You know I’ve never really had like, girl friends that I could do girly stuff like this with, but...I like it.”

Bethany’s heart hurts, like it always does when she thinks of the gang before they found each other.“Well, you have me now,” Bethany tells her before she jumps onto the bed, tackling Martha (who protests vehemently and gets ignored), legs tangling together with the sound of their laughter.

They’re laying shoulder to shoulder, with Bethany looking up at the ceiling, at the plastic stars. “God,” she sighs. “What am I doing? Like, for real.”

“You’re gonna go get coffee with the man you gave one of your lives to,” Martha tells her simply, and Bethany can feel her shrugging her shoulders. “And the worst thing that can happen is you getting closure. Best case scenario...”

Bethany’s stomach turns at that. “Don’t even go there.”  They’re quiet for a moment, before Bethany sighs and flips onto her side. Martha is looking back at her, eyes soft and supportive. “I don’t even know him,” Bethany says. “20 years have gone by. That shouldn’t even be possible.”

“If you wanted to question every single aspect of this then why did you wait until an hour before you’re supposed to see him?”

Bethany groans miserably. “I don’t even have anymore time to whine about it!”

Martha sits up, forces Bethany to sit up with her. “Good,” she claps Bethany on the back, hard. “That means no more time to get in your head.”

.

.

Bethany feels a little frantic by the time her and Martha go downstairs, and she hurries to collect her purse and slide her sandals on. She checks her phone for the time; she only has 30 minutes to get to the coffee shop downtown if she plans on arriving early. Which she does, since she wants to look put together and flawless by the time Alex arrives, and that means picking a seat with good lighting.

She turns towards Martha. “You’re sure you don’t mind just hanging here?”

“In your gorgeous house, with your giant TV and the pool in the back?” Martha puts her hand to her forehead in a dramatic show of feint-heartedness. “How will I ever survive?”

“You’re a drama queen. Have I told you that?”

Martha grins. “Every day.You’re sure your parents won’t mind if Spencer comes over?”

Bethany shakes her head. “They’ve got couples therapy after work and they won’t be home till like 10 tonight.”

“Couples therapy...” Martha repeats back to her, slowly. “Is...everything okay?”

Bethany waves off her concern with a dismissive hand. “Yeah, they’ve been going once a month since I was born, basically. It’s like, preventative, or whatever.”

Martha wishes her luck when she hugs her goodbye, tells her to call her if anything goes wrong.

“Please,” Bethany says, one hand on the door handle.For all the teasing Martha has done today, Bethany figures she should return the favor, a little. “If you guys fool around just...not in my room?”

Martha’s face flushes the same color as her hair. She sputters indignantly. “We don’t - we’re not-”

Bethany leaves it at that, shutting the door behind her with a cheerful, drawn out, “Byeeeeeee!”

.

.

Bethany thinks her nervousness is probably palpable by the time she reaches the cute stretch of shops downtown by the water. 

She left the house in confidence, but by the time she’d reached the street sign at the end of her road she was in shambles.  She’d spent the entire walk over practicing cool responses for questions Alex probably wasn’t even going to ask, working herself up into a puddle of anxiety and clenched nerves.  She doesn’t even realize how tightly she’s holding the strap of her shoulder bag until her hand starts to cramp up. She stretches out her fingers, frets with her necklace because it’s stupid and the clasp keeps falling towards the front, counting the number of shops she has to pass before she gets to the cafe. 

She’s four doors away when she realizes this might be a huge mistake.

If she’s being honest with herself - which she rarely is when it comes to this particular topic - she knows that she’s...not over Alex. It’s been 6 months since the game ended, and she realizes that’s a long time to hold onto something - especially feelings for a boy she didn’t know long at all - but...

It’s different with him.

Would it feel the same, now that he was 20 years older? They weren’t the same person - the Alex in the game that she fell in love with and the Alex she’s about to sit across from and have a conversation with.  There wasn’t going to be the moment she dreamed about - where she runs to him and jumps in his strong arms. Where she rips off those aviator shades off of Seaplane's face and kisses him like she’s wanted to since the Bazaar. In her fantasy, he kisses her back, and in her fantasy she’s not an overweight middle aged man. She’s herself. In her fantasy it’s fine - because they’re the same age, and he’s not married.  

She hates herself for clinging to such a childish dream. She knows it was destroyed along with the game.

But...it’s still Alex.

Parts of him were bound to still be the same. Even after the time that had passed. There had to be pieces of him that the years didn’t change. 

She just hopes that some of them were the pieces she remembered.

.

.

The older woman holding the cafe door open for her looks at her strangely, and either Bethany has something on her face or her anxiety is coming off of her in waves. It’s a wonder she hasn’t vibrated out of her skin, she’s trembling so hard. 

It’s a cute little coffee shop, family-owned with pictures of children and grandchildren lining the walls behind the register.  Bethany doesn’t see him when she looks around - not at the tables, not at the counter or at the trendy little lounge area by the fireplace. 

She has time, so she orders a raspberry black tea from a bored-looking barista, and Bethany might be annoyed at their lack of customer service if she wasn’t so nervous.

She takes her drink when the barista hands it off to her, and she turns, figuring she’ll take a seat at one of the window tables so she can see him when he arrives - 

Her eyes scan the vacant tables again, just in case she missed him on her first glance around the room.

 

And there he is.

 

She’d skipped right over him, looking for Seaplane’s face unconsciously.The guilt she feels is instantaneous and terrible, but she bets she’d feel a lot worse if he had been looking at her.He’s not; he’s looking down at his son in his lap, significantly bigger than the last time Bethany saw him.

He looks good, in a Megadeath t-shirt - even while wearing one of those ridiculous baby Bjorns.

Even with the wrong face.

Not wrong, Bethany scolds herself immediately. Just different. And that was fine. She’s different too. 

She takes a step towards him without allowing herself to think about what she’s doing. Takes another before she can chicken out.She watches him come closer almost in slow motion, anxiety so high she feels like she’s watching a movie rather than experiencing it first hand.

“Bethany!” Alex stands when he sees her, taking Andy with him. Bethany smiles, stares into the baby’s giant brown eyes, full of wonder, working up last second courage before she looks up at Alex.

They have the same eyes, she notices immediately.

Alex steps around the table quickly - a two person table, Bethany makes a note of, so unless his wife is going to sit on his lap with Andy, she wouldn’t be joining them - and Bethany freezes; was he going to hug her?

But instead he steps around her and pulls out her chair.It’s a sweet little gesture, so she tries not to be too disappointed.

“Where’s Bethany?” She asks, thanking him when he pushes her chair back in for her.She watches him while he settles Andy into the high chair next to the table, and it’s a little bit surreal - Alex being so at ease with a baby. But he’s done this before with his daughter, and Bethany has had 6 months to come to terms with the fact that he has a family. She doesn’t know why seeing him with his son now is making emotion swirl in her stomach.

Alex smiles when he sits down, meeting Bethany’s gaze unflinchingly, easily.Looking at ease in a way Bethany wish she could. He takes a sip from the coffee mug sitting in front of him. “She had a play date.”

Her heartbeat hammers in her chest. She takes a deep breath, reminds herself to relax. It’s just Alex.

She tries to keep it casual, even while she’s memorizing every detail of his face. He definitely has not grown a mustache. She hopes she’s not being obvious. “You don’t have work?”

Alex smiles, boyish and charming. It’s just like she remembers. “I teach, actually. So, summer break for me too.”

Bethany is going to pretend she hasn’t internet stalked him before. “At BCC?” She asks innocently.

“Yeah, English teacher. Pretty cliche, right?”

“I don’t know.” Bethany tilts her head. “I can see it, definitely.”

 

They make small talk - Alex asks her about work, about her plans for the summer - and she can’t help but stare at him, kind of in awe because - because it’s just like it would be if they were in the game. He doesn’t look like Seaplane, and she doesn’t look like Oberon (but the image does pop into her head, of him in a romper, and it’s kind of funny. Puts her at ease a little more, anyway) but he’s looking at her and talking to her the same way he did when he was 17.

 

“Thank god,” Alex sighs after a comfortable lull in conversation, tipping his head back.

Bethany takes a sip of her tea. “Hm?”

“I can’t believe how nervous I was for this.”

Bethany can definitely relate. “Why would you be nervous?”

Alex looks at her, holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Teenagers are scary. I will literally cross the street to avoid them.”

“I’m not scary!” Bethany defends herself. He’s the scary one, not her. 

Alex smiles, pauses for a second. “That’s really only part of it.” He says. “The anticipation for this has been building for a while now, and guess I’m relieved that you’re still just as easy to talk to.”

“I know what you mean,” Bethany tells him, honestly. “This past month has been...”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “For sending that letter and then not calling for a while. Every time I tried I...” he laughs, but it sounds more anxious than actually humorous. “It seems ridiculous now.”

Bethany stares at him, swallowing because - she maybe wasn’t prepared for how sudden and direct the conversation would suddenly become. 

“I know how awkward this must feel for you,” he continues, guilty smile on his lips. “To have some...old guy you don’t even know talking to you like this.”

Bethany smiles back, soft and unsure. “No, I’m glad this is happening. And...it’s you, so.”

Alex breathes through his nose hard, a half-laugh with a half-smile. He reaches over and smooths a hand over Andy’s tiny head, and for the first time it hits Bethany that he might still be nervous too.  He doesn’t act like it, though, voice even, eye contact direct and almost as exhilarating as it is terrifying. 

They’re talking about it, like adults.

“I know that I’m a lot older than the Alex you first met, and I know I can’t remember the details as clearly as I could 20 years ago but - you’re still important to me,” he says. “All of you are.” He glances back at Andy when he starts to fuss. “It’s probably weird now, but I want us all to be friends. But if that’s not something you’re ready for, I understand.”

Bethany opens her mouth, hesitates because - she can’t actually tell him what she actually feels, can she?She’s never really been one to shy away from her feelings, but it is Alex. He’s older, and she doesn’t know if it’s even appropriate to tell him how she feels.

Still, she doesn’t want to waste his time, or lie to him. “I don’t want you to feel bad for me,” Bethany tells him. “Or make you feel weird.”

She knows he can read between the lines and see what she’s really saying. She doesn’t want to put any more emphasis on their current age difference. She doesn’t want to tell a married man 21 years older than her that she was quite recently - and very possibly currently - in love with him.

Alex gives her a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me feel weird,” he says. “It’s you.”

Bethany’s breath catches in her throat. Honesty was apparently on the table.

Bethany takes a deep breath. “I was really self-absorbed before the game.” She starts off.“The game really...really changed me. Seeing you - in real life with your perfect family...it just-“ Her voice breaks, and Bethany swallows the lump in her throat. She was actually going to say what she needed after months of convincing herself she’d have to keep it to herself for the rest of her life. “It made me so happy. But...”

Bethany looks at the ceiling. Maybe her tears won’t fall like they feel like they might if she keeps looking up. “There’s literally like, no scenario where things could have worked out like I wanted them to in the game.”

Unless the game happened to spit him out in 2016 like she was hoping for - but that was an impossibility. Even more so than being sucked into a video game in the first place.

“I know.” He sounds sympathetic, which is somehow worse than her own heartache. She didn’t need him taking pity on a teenage girl in love with his memory. 

She looks back down at him, and he’s looking at her gently - but not in the way she was expecting. He’s not looking at her like she’s some pathetic little girl, he’s looking at her like -

Like he’s just as disappointed with the outcome as she is. 

But Bethany knows she can't trust even her own eyes right now - not with him.  It's part of the whole 'old Bethany' thing; she used to get what she wanted and see what she wanted, anything outside of her own perfect little bubble absolutely unimportant.  Her eyes used to see through rose-colored glasses and turn a blind eye towards things that weren't happening the way she wanted them too - her own selfishness blinding her without her even realizing. Alex - the game - helped her with that.  They were a guiding light helping her through the darkness her own actions caused.  Even now, a voice in her head she didn't have before the game tells her to Stop; to make herself see the reality of what's actually happening.  He's still not looking at her with pity, but he's no longer looking at her the way she had hoped he was.

Bethany clears her throat, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed, and maybe not as ready for this as she thought she was. But part of her is also relieved; after months of crushing emotional baggage from someone she couldn't even talk to, they were finally right in front of her and she was finally getting the closure she desperately needed.  She takes a deep breath, and it’s like she can feel the metaphorical, emotional weight lifting from her shoulders with every word she speaks. “I know it happened 20 years ago for you but it just happened to me," she tells him.  _It still hurts._ “And I’ve been working through how I feel, but it’s going to take some time.”

“That’s fair,” he says, and he sounds like he really means it. “I just wanted you to know that when you are ready, I want you in my life in some way. Even if it takes another 20 years.”

Bethany smiles - she’s sure it’s sad and pathetic but it’s hard to look at Alex and hold onto her sadness when he's giving her everything she needed - intentionally or not. She knew this would be intense, but she didn't know it would have this kind of effect on her; making her sad to her core and at the same time - happy.  Not happy enough to keep the stinging out of her eyes, but at least she hasn’t completely fallen apart. Yet. Or, not severely enough to ruin her sense of humor. “You’ll probably be dead by then.” She teases him, the punchline maybe ruined by the way her voice shakes.

But Alex smiles back - kind of - and he laughs, too...kind of.  Really, all he manages is a tired-looking smile and a sharp breath through his nose.  But that makes Bethany feel better than an actual laugh would; proof that at least he's not completely unaffected by all of this.

  
Proof that Bethany was someone he cared about.   

  
It’s quiet between them for a moment, aside from soft noises from Andy beside them.Then Alex says, “It’s probably not okay that we’re even having this conversation,” he scratches the back of his head. “That woman keeps giving me dirty looks.”

Bethany glances to her right, and it’s the same woman that held the door open for her earlier, staring at their table with an engrossed expression. Bethany doesn’t blame her; she knows how they probably look - an upset teenage girl and a man _not-quite-old-enough-to-be-her-father_ but _not-quite-young-enough-to-be-her-boyfriend._ And an infant.  Bethany hates that she's constantly being reminded about the second-biggest thing keeping the Alex-and-Bethany she fantasized about apart; his age. The woman looks away when Bethany catches her, and Bethany looks back to Alex, rolls her eyes and changes the subject, for her own sanity. “I’m used to people staring at me.”

Alex smiles, crooked and handsome. “I bet.”

His tone and his words twist at her insides, more than they’re already twisted from their previous conversation, and she decidedly ignores it.She’s not going to read into that right now. For her _sanity_.

“What does your wife think about this?” She asks suddenly, mouth moving as soon as the thought pops into her head.  She hopes her lips close fast enough to cover up her very dramatic and completely embarrassing gasp.  So much for her sanity. There it was, out in the open - the biggest thing keeping her fantasy Alex-and-Bethany apart; his marriage.  Of course, Bethany immediately regrets asking. Fuck, even the thought of her - faceless and nameless but terrifyingly real - makes her sick to her stomach.“Does she know about the game?”

“Ex-wife,” he corrects her. “Or, soon to be, anyway.” Bethany’s heart skips as fantasy Alex-and-Bethany's first obstacle is stripped away.  She hates the inkling of hope that stirs in the pit of her stomach, _hates it_ , and kind of hates Alex for evoking those kinds of feelings in her. She ignores them regardless, and focuses on what he's saying. “You know...I told her - once. About the game," he says. "About you and the others. I guess she was curious about the nightmares that woke me up in the middle of the night."

Alex isn't looking at her anymore, looking instead at the coffee mug in front of him - fingers pushing and pulling it around the same tight imaginary circle over and over again, fiddling with the handle placement.  He almost looks self-conscious - expression reminiscent to one she saw on Seaplane. Bethany looks at him, easier when he's not looking back - and takes in the concrete proof in front of her that Past Alex and Present Alex were the same person - even with 20 years of distance and who knew what else between them.  Present Alex continues.  "She looked at me like I was crazy, like every single one of the few people I've told. Fuck, I _know_ how crazy it must sound  -“

“But it happened.” Bethany interrupts him, leveling him with an even stare until he meets her eyes - and even after. It happened, as impossible as it should be. It was _real_.

Alex holds her gaze for a few seconds, expression nameless and _intense_ \- long enough for Bethany to see the older woman's blurry head twitch out of the corner of her eye.  He sighs, looks up at the ceiling, frowning. Andy coos happily in his chair. “There were moments over the years where I questioned it," he says. "Thought that maybe I was as insane as it made me sound - that it was all in my head.” Bethany follows the curve of his jaw with her eyes, and for a second wishes she could with her mouth. It’s kind of pathetic; how attracted she is to him, even with a different face. Even when he’s 21 years older than her. Alex continues - unaware of her train of though. She doubts he'd be here if he was. “I mean, it could have been a dream. A long, terrifying, vivid dream...” She watches the corners of his mouth tilt up, just a bit. “And then I saw all of you. Standing outside of my fathers’ house.” 

Alex looks back down at her. “I felt instant relief - a wave of reassurance so strong it almost made my heart stop. The game was real. _You_ were real.” Bethany's breath nearly catches at that - at the look in his eyes and the emotion in his voice.  He clears his throat - looks away and stirs his coffee, probably too cold to drink. “Anyway,” he says. “We’ve been separated for almost a year.”

Bethany barely acknowledges the last of his words before filing them away for later - for when she’s not sitting right in front of him. _He's not married._ “I’m sorry,” she says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when people get divorced. Or, separated in this case. And she is sorry, but she’s also only human and probably not as sorry as she should be.   _He's not married._

Alex shrugs. “Don’t be. We got married because she got pregnant with Beth, and then Andy was kind of our last ditch effort to keep everything together.”He says, “That never works, and I don’t know why we thought it would work for us. We couldn’t even make it through her pregnancy.” He smiles, but Bethany wonders if it’s as black and white as he’s making it sound. It rarely is, but Bethany doesn’t know if she even wants to know the details of it.Alex continues, “We’re better parents when we’re separated, anyway. We’re happier.”

What a coincidence, Bethany thinks. So is she.

But of course she can’t say that - wouldn’t even if she could because she knows how childish that makes her sound.  Instead, she tells him what she's been thinking about since she first saw him outside of the game, 6 months ago. “I’ve been thinking about you getting spit out in 1996 after 20 years of being stuck in the game where you died three times with no one to talk to,” Bethany tells him. “I’m really, really happy you have a family.”

He smiles at her. “Thank you, Bethany. That means a lot.”

She smiles back, because it’s Alex, and it's easier than it has been since the start of this particular conversation because - _he's not married._

There's a brief pause between them, during which they both look out the window at the people passing the cafe and Bethany takes long, slow sips of her tea to calm herself and her racing heart down. 

Then, Alex asks, “And you?”

Bethany just looks at him. “What about me?”

“Doing okay out here? Any nightmares or anything like that?”

“Not so much anymore,” she tells him. “It helps that we...” Bethany hesitates. “We destroyed the game.”

Alex doesn’t visibly react that she can see, other than looking over at Andy. “That’s probably for the best.” He says. “Kind of a shame though - there are some parts of it I wouldn’t mind seeing again.”

Bethany nods, and takes another sip from her tea. She knows how that feels, mind automatically drifting to Alex, like it always does.But it’s weird, because he’s right in front of her, just in a different body.But he’s still the same, and this conversation has only confirmed what Bethany already knew - that that Alex and this Alex were still the same person. Time might have changed parts of him, but just like she’d hoped, some parts were still the same. He was still Alex.

And he’s telling her he wants her in his life, in whatever capacity she needs. Bethany knows it will never be the way she actually wants - but it’s something.

She’s lucky she even gets that. 

“Game or no game,” Bethany says suddenly, mouth moving as soon as her mind makes itself up. “I want you in my life, too.”

His smile nearly splits Alex’s face, a full-on grin, so handsome and perfect that Bethany marvels for a moment how lucky she is to have met him. Really, it should be illegal to be so attractive. 

“I’m glad,” he says, and it’s obvious he means it.

Bethany smiles back at him. Even if they - her and Alex - never ended up anything more than friends, that would be enough for her.She makes him happy, even if indirectly, even if it’s not the way she wants.

And that’s enough.

.

. 

 

“Did you walk here?”

 

Bethany and Alex are standing in front of the cafe, with Andy strapped onto Alex’s chest. He’s got a hand wrapped around Bethany’s fingers, trying to shove them in his mouth and it’s sweet - it makes Bethany miss when Hunter was so small.

Bethany shrugs, squints up at the sun. She should have put on sunscreen, but at least it’s breezy. “It’s not that far.”

“Let me give you a ride,” Alex says. “Since it’s ‘not that far.’”

Bethany hesitates. “Uh...” Being alone with him in the car? With nowhere to run if she feels like she’s going to say something stupid? She’d really rather not.

“Bethany,” Alex says, “I don’t bite.” 

She takes a long sip of her tea, even though she promised herself she’d save some for the walk back. But she needs it - mostly to swallow down the _I wish you would_ that threatens to come out. 

 

He wins, in the end, and Bethany reasons that it’s just too hot for her to be walking back (even if the walk to the cafe had been fine).

Alex settles Andy into his car seat, and Bethany does her best job to not completely snoop with what she can see after she buckled herself into the passengers seat.Really, there’s nothing interesting; an ocean breeze air freshener and an opened tangerine Red Bull in the cup holder.

She holds her breath when he gets in the car, mostly to keep herself from saying anything dumb, and she tries her hardest not to obviously stare at him but - everything about him makes her heartbeat speed up; the way his shirt sleeve fits around his bicep, or how good he smells when they’re close like this. 

They drive in relative silence, for the first few minutes anyway, if only because Bethany is still filtering her thoughts so she doesn’t say anything stupid, and everything acceptable isn’t interesting enough for her to want to say out loud. And really she’s too focused on breathing anyway. 

Alex is the first one to break the silence.

“Are the others also seniors?”

“Yeah,” Bethany says. “You know, they’d...they’d love to see you again. The others. And me. We could all hangout.”

Alex smiles, and Bethany tries to memorize the way his cheek dimples out of the corner of her eye. “Definitely.”

Bethany watches the scenery pass - familiar to her since childhood. She starts to panic a little bit when she realizes they’re only a few streets from her house. “Until then...I...do you text? Maybe we could text.”

“I do text, believe it or not.”

“Then we’ll text?” 

Alex smile doesn’t fade. “Of course.”

He turns onto her street, and Bethany is thankful none of her snoopy neighbors are outside; the last thing she wanted was someone telling her parents she’s been seen in some guys’ minivan.

Bethany nods to herself when he stops in front of her house - it seemed like a good place to end the conversation. She even puts her hand on the door handle.

But she...doesn’t really want to go. Even with the knowledge that Martha is inside and probably watching them right now, Bethany feels like she could sit here talking like this for hours. This was the absolute best case scenario - her anxiety from earlier seeming silly even now, with her nerves twisting in knots. Because - what if this was it? If she got out of the car and Alex decided that he should have left her in the past along with the game. Bethany can’t even think about that, chest tightening -

Alex’s hand on her arm startles her, snapping her attention back to him. He’s looking at her gently, smile crooked. “I _will_ text you,” he says. “I swear.” 

Bethany swallows - hates that she’s so transparent, a little bit, but loves that Alex is aware enough to pick up on her thoughts so she’s not keeping them to herself (or worse, saying it out loud and making a fool of herself). His hand on her arm is warm - leaves heat even when he pulls away.

“Okay,” she says simply, nodding. “Then I’ll talk to you later.” She turns around to make kissy faces at Andy, to which he squeals with glee. And when she unbuckles herself and opens the door, she still doesn’t quite want to go. 

But Alex said he’d text her, and she knows better than to doubt him. 

He’s looking at her when she turns and shuts the passengers door, taking his hand off the wheel to give her a small wave. She wonders if he’s watching her as she walks up her driveway, hyper-aware of him just sitting there in his van with the engine running until she opens her front door, fighting back every urge to look back at him like she so desperately wants to.

She steps inside, and shuts the door behind her.

 

“Oh my god,” Martha is literally on top of her as soon as Bethany walks in the door.She darts to the window, pulling the curtains back just a touch at the corner, crouching down to peer outside. Bethany can hear his car pulling away. “He drove you home?”

Bethany understands her excitement - she still can’t quite believe it either, opens her mouth to reply -

“What are you doing?”

Bethany jumps at Spencer’s voice, gasping as she whips around to see him in his swimsuit, curls damp with a beach towel around his neck. Bethany puts a hand to her chest and tries to settle her racing heart - partly from behind startled, partly because it’s been beating fast for the past two hours.

“Oh my god,” Martha says, again. “She’s having a heart attack.”

“I’m not having a heart attack.” Bethany defends.  If she was going to have one, she would have had it already.

Bethany sighs, slumps away from the front door - through the foyer, to the living room - and onto the couch. Immediately she feels the tension from the day leaving her body. She looks up at Martha, then at Spencer, who have both followed her through the house and are now starting at her in anticipation. She sighs again. “Should we order a pizza and make Fridge come over?” Bethany knows she’ll need all the moral support she can get, too emotionally and mentally drained to pour over ever detail like she wants.

“I got the pizza,” Spencer offers helpfully, and Martha already has her phone pulled out, fingers typing furiously.

“I texted Fridge and told him to bring his swimming trunks.” She says, and she smiles at Bethany. “Pizza Pool Party?”

Bethany can’t do much but lay back and nod, a little dramatically, maybe, but rightfully so.“Pizza Pool Party.”

.

.

“It felt the same,” Bethany says thoughtfully, through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza approximately 40 minutes later. “Like...he was still Alex. Just older.”

“And with a family,” Spencer adds.

Martha cuts him off. “But without a wife.”

 

Bethany has spent the majority of every summer of her life in her backyard; every birthday party, every summer barbecue, every sleepover the minute the water was warm enough. It was just as much of a part of her home as her actual house was, but she’s never loved it as much as she does now.

Martha and Spencer are lounging on the pool chairs, and Fridge keeps hopping in and out of the water for pizza, despite Spencer warning him of the dangers of not waiting 30 minutes after eating to swim.Bethany is lying on the concrete, soaking up the leftover heat from the sun now that it’s setting, summer breeze chilling her - and her soaked bikini. 

“Does that really matter?” Fridge is hovering over the outdoor kitchenette, eating his pizza over the sink. “Him being divorced?”

Martha looks at him like he’s gone crazy. “Of course it matters,” she says. “His wife wouldn’t let him hangout with Bethany. And if he doesn’t hangout with her, then he can’t fall in love with her.”

“Wait, what?” Spencer sits up in his chair, expression on his face sour. “Is that really the end goal, here?”

“No,” Bethany says immediately, shooting Martha a look. _Traitor_. “Definitely not. Martha’s being dramatic.”

Spencer seems to relax again, and Bethany doesn’t even want to think about that - or anything surrounding it. Not after the day she’s had. But she does file his bizarre reaction away for later examination.

“So your friends?” Spencer asks. “Just like that?”

There’s nothing ‘just like that’ about it - but Bethany doubts she could get into the specific trials and tribulations even if she wanted to - and she absolutely does _not_. Instead she shrugs as best as she can from lying on her back on the ground, concrete scraping her shoulders, but it feels good after having spent the last part of the afternoon in the sun, with only a thin coat of sunscreen applied before she got into the water. “Just like that.”

And _just like that_ , they drop the topic, instead focusing on what kind of animal-shaped pool float they should order on Amazon, Spencer casually mentioning his two-day-shipping Prime membership in order to tip the scale in his favor towards his suggestion -a hippo.  "Come on," he says. "It would be funny." Bethany and Martha get into a discussion about different types of bathing suits (because Martha had become less self-conscious after the game and actually wore two-pieces now - which Bethany was pretty much an expert on) while Fridge and Spencer geek out about an inside joke that Bethany must not have been paying attention for because it is definitely not funny enough for Fridge to be laughing the way he is. 

It's not long before the sun has completely set, bathing them in faded orange and blue.  Bethany sits up, pops her spine before she sighs. “I’m going to turn on the porch light for my parents,” she says, raising to a kneel before Spencer bolts out of his chair.

“I’ve got it,” he says quickly. Bethany raises an eyebrow, but Spencer doesn’t look at her. “Martha, why don’t you help me?”

“I can help,” Bethany offers. “Do you even know where it is?”

Spencer shakes his head immediately. “No, no.” He says. “I mean, yes. I’ve got it. And if I don't...Martha will help me.”

Martha looks just as confused as Bethany feels, but she doesn’t resist much when Spencer takes her by the hand and pulls her across the yard to the house, with very obvious forced causality. He ushers her inside the sliding glass door, looking between Bethany and Fridge. “You two just...stay here and talk.”

The door slides shut behind him, punctuating the end of a very strange encounter.

It’s quiet for a moment, still as they both try to process what just occurred. Bethany sits back, glances at Fridge, who is still staring at the door. He takes another bite of pizza. “That was weird.”

Bethany wholeheartedly agrees, but again, she’s drained all of her mental capability and doesn't want to get into it. ...Still - it’s weird for Spencer to create such an obvious opportunity for her and Fridge to talk alone -

It suddenly clicks into place, the picture on the puzzle just as awkward, if not more awkward, as assembling it was. “Oh,” Bethany says. “I see what this is.”

Fridge doesn’t - puzzled frown on his face face when he abandons his pizza and heads towards Bethany.He grunts when he sits down next to her, all 6’5 of him folding up to mimic her position, cross-legged on the pool deck.After a moment he says, “Oh.”

Bethany nods. “Yeah.”

Fridge shakes his head.  "I told you,” he tells her. “They don’t have sex, they reproduce asexually. Like germs.”

“It’s not that,” she says, rolling her eyes. She doesn't elaborate.

It takes Fridge a second to figure it out, and when he does he clicks his tongue, Bethany’s eye-roll apparently catching. 

“You’re not my type, Bethany.” He tells her, in an irritatingly genuine consoling voice. He puts his hand on her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry. It's time to move on.”

Bethany swats his hand away from her. “I’m gonna smack you.”

Fridge laughs, throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close until she's comfortable and warm against his side. Bethany tilts her head back to look at the sky, the back of her head resting on the ball of his shoulder.  She sighs, because that’s all she knows how to do and is too tired to switch up her routine.

After a moment he starts, tone expectant. “So?” He asks, “Was it as magical as you had hoped?”

Bethany really doesn’t have an answer for that. She had tried to go into it without any expectations - because no expectations meant no disappointment - and she’s by no means disappointed but -  


Now she had them - expectations. And now she had room for disappointment. She doubts Alex would ever disappoint her, but - now he could.Bethany isn’t often not in control, not if she can help it because she doesn’t like feeling helpless, and Alex - he’s another issue entirely.

But she won’t tell Fridge that. He’s already seen her breakdown once this month, and that was already one time too many. So she says, “I don’t know. I guess.”

Fridge raises an eyebrow. “You guess?”

Bethany shrugs, hugs her knees to her chest and tries not to think about how pathetic she must look. “I don’t know where we stand,” she says - not a lie. “So I feel weird.”

“Wasn’t the entire point of this to find out where you stand?” Fridge says, “Did you just forget to ask?”

“No,” Bethany defends. “He said to text him but...I can’t, can I? Like, is that even okay? Morally?”

Fridge tilts his head, looks up at the sky with her. “I don’t think it matters if it’s okay to anyone else,” he says insightfully. “As long as you’re okay with it, and he’s okay with it, I don’t think it’s a problem.”

Bethany hums softly in acknowledgement and agreement. That was true. Well, it wasn’t quite as black and white as Fridge had made it sound, but Bethany truly didn’t see anything wrong with it, when she really thought about it.

Sure, a 16 year old girl texting a 30-something year old guy was probably not appropriate in ordinary circumstances, but there was nothing ordinary about Alex Vreeke, or the circumstances surrounding the two of them. Plus, Martha was right; he totally time-traveled. The standard rules didn’t apply. 

“I’m happy for you, B.” Fridge tells her softly, after a moment of comfortable silence. “I really am.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Bethany grumbles, pouting. “He could still just delete my number and never talk to me again.” She hates that she put that out in the universe, but it doesn’t make it any less of a possibility.

“That’s true,” Fridge bumps his shoulder against hers. “But that won’t happen,” he says. “So just let me be happy for you, and be happy for yourself.”

Bethany doesn’t reply - because he has a point. She’s been too apprehensive about the whole thing to actually let herself be happy. It wasn’t an ideal scenario - not the one she wanted, anyway - but it was something. And after 6 months of waiting for it, she should be satisfied with that.

She _is_ satisfied with that. 

It’s a few hours late and she’s definitely fried a few brain cells with all the repressing she’s been doing, but Bethany finally lets herself feel the things she’s been holding back all day; terrified, elated, anxious - floating on a cloud of uncertainty but still floating.

She’s excited to see what her future as Alex’s friend holds; excited to see how things play out in the real world.

She’s ready for whatever level comes next, happy to dive in, even blindly.

She navigated her way through a dangerous jungle with nothing but a map and an endurance-problem - she could navigate her way through a friendship with Alex.

It will be terrifying, Bethany knows - probably more terrifying than the jungle. It would be nerve-wracking and more emotionally heavy than she’s prepared for, but she’s already gotten killed and eaten by a hippo - she’s pretty sure she can handle Alex Vreeke.

 

At least - she hopes she can.

 

She’s going to try either way.

 

.

 

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It might be the first time she’s actually said it out loud. Or had to acknowledge it in her own voice. 
> 
> “I’m not expecting anything to happen,” she says slowly, tells herself just as much as she’s telling Spencer. “I can barely get a text back. You really don’t have to worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes out of the woods after 5 months to hand u this* 
> 
> Will I ever finish anything in the timeline that I foolheartedly intend for myself? Probably not since it’s already almost 2019. I’m so impatient to just get to the good parts with this fic that I’m dragging my feet through these beginning chapters. Pls forgive me. 
> 
> I know most of this chapter seems kind of like a filler episode almost? But I promise everything has its purpose, no matter how random it might seem. And I know this is also probably a grammatical mess. Pls forgive me twice. 
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your continued support and patience. I re-read your comments for inspiration all the time. Here’s hoping that we don’t have to wait 20 years for the next chapter!

 

.

 

 **To** : _Alex_

Work is going by so slowly I feel like I’m being Punk’d 

 

 **From** : _Alex_

I’d take that over a teething baby any day

 

 **From** :  _Alex_

Also I’m pretty sure punkd is before your time

 

 **To** :  _Alex_

Ashton Kutcher is timeless!

 

 

Bethany waits...and then waits 10 more minutes before the smile she’s been hiding in her hand starts to disappear, replaced with a frown that deepens with every minute that passes.

She can’t help it - not really. She’s a teenage girl. She’s bound to get giddy when a cute boy texts her. And bound to get irritated when he doesn’t. Typically, said boy isn’t actually a man 21 years older than her, but a cute boy is a cute boy, and Bethany’s always kind of been a sucker for butterflies and everything else that comes with a crush. But it’s different with Alex.

Everything is.

They’ve only texted each other a few times since they met for coffee; tiny conversations that only last about five sentences before someone stops replying. Usually, it’s Alex. In fact, 4 out of the 5 times it’s been him. He had done it the first time, and then Bethany had done it the second because he did it the first time, but she hasn’t had the self control to stop replying any other time.

Bethany isn’t _not_ used to this; she spent the majority of the first semester of Junior year waiting for texts from Noah that never came. She’s good at waiting but - it’s Alex. She doesn’t want to wait.

At first she thinks it’s her - maybe he found her boring. But then she thinks that can’t be possible because her and Lucinda used to be able to text for _days_ without more than an hour in between responses. Then she thinks, oh shit, it might _actually_ be her; maybe Alex found her immature? But if he did then why would he keep starting new conversations and reply to hers? Unless he was just being polite -

She catches that train of thought before her frown makes her cheeks hurt. She reminds herself that Alex is an adult with two young children. Alex has a serious job and actual responsibilities, and probably doesn’t have time to stare at his phone - not like Bethany, who’s leaning against the counter at work, with her phone in her hand even though she really shouldn’t, but there’s only one customer in the store and they’ve been in the bathroom for a questionable amount of time.

She’d feel bad for slacking on the clock if she was the only one but she’s not; Amanda, her manager, leans in the doorframe of the back room, arms crossed, mouth moving and Bethany realizes that she’s talking - that she was supposed to be listening. She _was_ listening, before she texted Alex - and she’s listening again, now that he stopped replying. Because he finds Bethany _boring_ \- and why wouldn’t he? He was interesting and mature and she’s -

Bethany tries to stop thinking about that before the ugly voice in the back of her head can make her question anything else about her and Alex. Just because she had a habit of obsessing didn’t mean she needed to dwell on it like she was. She focuses back on Amanda, who doesn’t look like she’s even noticed Bethany spacing out.

“I hate not knowing what we are,” she pouts, mid-conversation, and Bethany mentally catches up. Amanda’s horrible kind-of-boyfriend-kind-of-not is being as horrible as he’s been since she started seeing him. Amanda is somehow the only one surprised by it every time. “Why are boys so difficult?”

Bethany wishes she knew. She also wishes she could stop thinking about them (him) for even 10 minutes. Figures that work wouldn’t be safe - not when she’s PMSing as bad as she is, and definitely not when her and Amanda are synced up. It’s a mess of hormones, and she reasons that really, her overreacting and overthinking isn’t even her fault; it’s this place. But still - how was she expected to stop thinking about them (him) when she was being reminded of them (him) in every aspect of her life?

Amanda continues on, “It’s not like I’m looking for anything serious right now anyway, but like - at least start a conversation about it, you know?” She sighs, slumps against the counter. “Keeping me in the dark is just making me miserable.”

“You should start the conversation then,” Bethany suggests, figuring it might look like she was paying attention if she gives her vague advice. “For real. If you’re unhappy you should talk about it.”

“That makes me feel so weird though,” Amanda whines. “Why can’t he start it? It’s embarrassing if I do it. Why can’t all men just be straightforward?”

Again, Bethany wishes she knew.

Amanda sighs, rolls her eyes so hard her head lolls to the side. She looks at Bethany. “Do you wanna get chipotle with me after work? I’m trying to drown my man-related sadness in a sofritas burrito.”

 

.

 

Bethany might feel weird walking into Chipotle with her uniform still on, but like with all of her insecurities, she tries to push it to the back of her mind. She just hopes she doesn’t run into anyone from school. 

She orders her food - a barbacoa bowl with extra veggies and chips on the side - and finds them a table in the corner of the seating area. Amanda’s tray clatters against the table when she sits down. 

“The cashier wanted me to give this to you.” Amanda slides Bethany a receipt, and Bethany looks at it - and the number scrawled across it in sharpie. “The one with the glasses and the forearm tattoo. I told him you’re 16, but he insisted he wasn’t much older.”

Bethany looks up - the cashier with the beard is already staring at her, but he flushes and looks down when she catches him. He’s cute, and if the game never happened Bethany might have taken it but - he’s not the one Bethany wants texting her. “Keep it,” She says. Or else it’ll end up being thrown away the next time she cleans out her bag.

“What,” Amanda asks, “is he not your type?”

Bethany shrugs, tries to mix her food with her fork without spilling it over the edge of the bowl . “Not really.”

The brunette steals one of her chips, questions her, “So what is your type?”

“I don’t know,” Bethany says, even though she does. Even though she can see them both clearly in her mind - Seaplane, broad-shouldered and rugged and gorgeous, and Alex, in his Megadeath shirt, with Andy in his lap. Somehow when she thinks of him she sees them both but - she can’t choose between them. Not anymore.

She can’t even remember her type before that; Noah, she guesses, but now that just seems ridiculous. But she can’t say that to Amanda - can’t explain any of it. Instead she settles with, “Older guys I guess?” Even though those words kind of taste bad on her tongue. She puts a chip in her mouth and ignores it.

“Be careful with that,” Amanda warns, face serious all of a sudden, but it’s good-natured. “Older guys may seem cool and mature, but really they just date younger girls because no one their age wants them. Most of them, anyway.”

Normally, Bethany would agree. And the part of her that’s not distracted by Alex and Alex-related thoughts appreciates her managers’ advice.

Amanda asks her through a mouthful of burrito. “You don’t have a boyfriend now?”

When Bethany shakes her head, she tilts her head to the side, watches Bethany curiously. “What about that guy that comes in sometimes when you’re working? The football player?”

“Fridge?” Bethany snorts, wishes it didn’t always come back to this. She blames Spencer passively, even though he’s not even here.

“Yeah. Why don’t you date him? He’s cute. And like, 7 feet tall.”

“He’s one of my best friends,” Bethany says. “It would be weird.” She adds, after a moment, “Also he doesn’t date white girls.”

“That’s too bad,” Amanda sighs into her burrito, and Bethany imagines this is what it might be like if she had an older sister. “You’d be cute together.”

That might be true. Bethany’s never considered it seriously, because it’s _Fridge_ , and when she tries to picture it  - she can’t. She doesn’t want to imagine herself with anyone but the guy she really wants - and she can’t do that either. Because she knows it’ll never happen - her and Alex in the capacity that she wants - and even secretly hoping that it might would just hurt her more in the end. 

Bethany is young and naive and a hopeless kind of romantic, but she’s not masochistic enough to break her own heart over something she knew better than to hope for. 

 

.

 

Her parents buy her a car.

 

It’s completely out of nowhere; she passes it in the driveway on her walk home from work the day after she and Amanda get Chipotle and she’s almost too tired to give it a second thought other than wondering which family friend she was going to have to hide in her room from for the rest of the night.

She doesn’t even put it together that hey, her birthday is in a month. Even so, never in her life did Bethany think her parents would buy her a car; she figured she’d have to barter with her parents for permission to drive her mom’s Prius to school next year every once in a while until she saved up enough to buy a terrible Craigslist car herself.She’d assumed she’d be on her own in finding one - she’s spoiled by her parents, but she’s not car-spoiled. Okay, maybe she is car-spoiled - but it’s still a surprise, and definitely more than she expected.

“We’ve noticed a positive change in you,” her mother tells her, after Bethany has opened the wrapped gift box her parents handed her after dinner, singular key inside. “At home and with your grades. You’re responsible enough now to stay smart and focused on the road.”

There’s a but coming, Bethany knows.  Her mother must know that she knows that - and decides not to make her wait. “The summer program Hunter is enrolled it is starting up soon. As long as you drop him off and pick him up on time a few days a week, the car is yours.”

That’s not the ultimatum she was expecting - that’s barely an ultimatum at all. She doesn’t mind bringing Hunter to school, loves spending time with him like that - she would mind bringing him in her own car even less.

 

She wants to tell Alex first, weirdly enough. Though she guesses it’s not weird when she reflects on _why_.

 _Look at me_ , it almost screams in the shine of the red paint. _I’m practically an adult_. Also - she almost always wants to tell Alex something, seizing everything as a gateway to another conversation. 

She debates it for longer than she’d like to admit, even going as far as to type out a message draft - her wavering self control the only thing keeping her from hitting send.He’s the one who said he wanted her in his life, why does Bethany feel like such a bother?

She decides against it in the end, unable to keep up the mental back and forth between her heart and her head (it’s a text for God’s sake - it shouldn’t be this hard.) Instead she settles for the group chat.

 

 **From** : _Mouse_   _Fin  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

Finally

 

 **From** : _Mouse_ Fin  
**To** : _OGCTRTA_

Congrats on evolving past pedestrian status.

 

 **From** : _Mouse Fin  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

We need to break in those backseats at the drive-ins tonight tho

 

 **From** : _Bravestone  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

That’s awesome!

 

 **From** : _Ruby Roundhouse  
_**To** : _OGCTRTA_

Oh my~

 

 **From** : Bravestone  
**To** : OGCTRTA 

Ew dude don’t be gross

 

 **From** : Mouse Fin  
**To** : OGCTRTA

NOT LIKE THAT. YOU GUYS ARE SO WEIRD

.

 

Fridge forces them to see the newest probably-terrible Mission Impossible, even though he’s the only one who wants to see it, which is fine in the end because Bethany makes him buy her ticket, ‘if you’re gonna make me sit through this’.

With the backseats down - something she didn’t know was possible until Fridge folded them down for her and she screamed, thinking he broke her car already - her and Martha can stretch out, heads towards the open trunk so they can look out across the field of cars, where there’s a rom com they never got around to seeing playing on the other screen.

“Too bad there’s no sound,” Martha takes a bite from the plate of nachos sitting in front of them. “This argument looks entertaining.”

Bethany slurps on her slushee, maybe obnoxiously. “Yeah, she’s so pretty and I bet she’s making very valid points. And her boyfriend or husband or whatever looks like a loser with his hair parted like that. I hope she slaps him.”

Martha holds up a chip in agreement. “Cheers.”

“I hope the carbs I’ve been eating lately go to my butt,” Bethany tells her, taking a chip with jalapeño. “Does it look like I’ve gained weight?”

Martha looks at her, even if she does roll her eyes first. “Why do you even care -“

“I don’t,” Bethany tells her. And she really doesn’t. But she can dream of Kim K level proportions. Even if it might look ridiculous on her. “God, let me dream.”

“You look as perfect as you always have, your highness.”

Bethany nudges Martha’s foot with hers. “You better not be lying to me.”

“You made me promise to never keep secrets, didn’t you?”

Bethany supposes that’s true.

The movie cuts to a cute coffee shop scene - with the female protagonist and her maybe-best guy friend/maybe-coworker (Bethany is really not following the storyline anymore, not that she could follow it without sound to start with, but the confusion is better than looking at Tom Cruise for any amount of time) sitting across from each other at a table by the window.

Bethany can’t help it - she pictures herself back at the coffee shop with Alex. She wonders if that’s what they looked like to an outsider, if they were just as tenderly looking at each other without the other noticing. Okay - she knows it wasn’t like that. But Bethany can dream.

Martha, who’s a psychic, probably, asks without preamble. “Have you talked to Alex lately?”

Bethany slumps against Martha’s shoulder miserably. “Kinda,” she tries not to sound so sad, but it’s not like she can filter herself around her best friend anyway. “I think he thinks I’m boring. Or something.”

Bethany feels Martha rest her head on top of hers. Feels when she sighs into her hair. “That couldn’t possibly be it. You’re the least boring person I know.”

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.” And it does. Bethany tells her, “I think I got my expectations too high. Somehow. Like, I know that things are going to be different out here but - I don’t know. He was so easy to talk to in the game.”

“Well,” Martha sighs, “Maybe you just need to figure out how to talk to him as an adult. It’s gonna be different now, with all the time that’s passed for him.”

“And I know that,” Bethany tells her. And she _does_. “I know he’s not that guy anymore. And I’m working hard on separating the two of them. I even put his contact name as Alex. Not Seaplane. Even though it would have completed the set.”

“You’re a nerd,” Martha snorts. The she adds, almost gently, “You’ll figure it out with him. All guys are different with texting and stuff. Also, he’s on the older end of thirty, he might still have trouble with his phone.”

“He shouldn’t,” Bethany tells her. “We warned him.”

They break into a fit of giggles, loud enough for Spencer to look back at them. Bethany ducks her head, lowers her voice. “Should we be talking about this so close to you-know-who?”

Martha rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, voice dropping down into a whisper. “I have no idea. I asked him after we all hung out at the pool if there was a problem but he just said something about you obsessing.”

“Hm.” Bethany looks back at the screen, where the pretty protagonist is now tearfully walking through Central Park (Bethany thinks), but she doesn’t try to argue with that. “I’m a teenage girl, what else would I do? Calmly and rationally categorize him as just another guy? He’s not.”

She can feel the vibrations against her skull when Martha hums. “Well _I_ know that. I think he’s just worried.”

Bethany sighs. It’s sweet - but his concern is misplaced. As much as Bethany feels like she’s out of her element with Alex, she trusts him. And even more than that, she’s familiar with this aspect of it, at least. “I’m fine. I used to obsess over Noah too - you guys just weren’t there for it.

“Thank God,” Martha snorts. “He’s gross.”

Fridge’s voice makes the both of them turn their heads. Both he and Spencer are looking at them. Fridge has his eyebrow raised. “Who’s gross?”

Martha sticks her tongue out at him. “Mind your own business, Fridge.”

He scowls. “Oh, okay. I see how it is Martha.”

“We’re talking about Noah,” Bethany cuts in. She has to - because she knows from experience that Fridge and Martha’s childish back and forth would go on all night if someone didn’t stop them. 

Her and Martha sit up, and Spencer makes that disappointed little noise he’s always making, tilts his head back like it’s _such a bother_. “He’s not coming to your party, right?”

Ugh. Bethany’s birthday. “Can you stop calling it that?” Bethany whines. “So embarrassing.” 

“That’s what it is -“

Bethany groans. “I don’t wanna think about my birthday.” Or Alex. Without digging into the subconsciousness of it, Bethany knows they’re related, somehow.“Can’t we just have a normal non-celebratory movie night instead?

“No way,” Martha’s tone leaves no room for argument. “6 months ago you almost died. We’re celebrating your birthday with a party.”

Bethany knows better than to try to convince Martha of something she’s already set her mind to. Something like this, anyway. “Fine,” she sighs. “But promise it’ll just be the four of us?”

“It’ll have to be,” Martha says. “You forfeited all of your cool old friends when you started hanging out with us.”

“Hey,” Fridge cuts in. “I’m her old friend,” he says, “and I’m still cool. I’m Fridge. It’s in the name.”

 

.

 

Unsurprisingly, she spends a lot of time in her car. The house can get a little loud with Hunter out of school, and she likes the peace that driving offers. Also, it means she can get Starbucks whenever she wants, like right now. It might be a waste of gas, but as long as her parents are making her pay for her own insurance she’s going to drive as much as she can, even if her tank is on half and she just. filled. up. yesterday.

 

Bethany doesn’t normally pay attention to pedestrians now that she’s no longer one herself, but the vague shape of the one coming up is so familiar, even from down the street, that Bethany actually looks at the person walking on the side of the road.As she gets closer she realizes that, yes, that curly head of hair and those lanky arms are quite familiar.

Bethany laughs to herself. Only Spencer would wear his backpack during the summer.

She pulls over a little bit behind him, and the only sign of Spencer acknowledging her is the way he glances back in her direction before facing forward again. His steps even quicken, a little bit.

Bethany takes her foot off the brakes, inches forward until they’re parallel, and Spencer gives her car another awkward glance before she remembers she has dark windows. She rolls down the passengers window, calling out to him, “Hey, Bravestone. Need a lift?”

It takes a minute for recognition to hit him. “Jesus,” he says, finally closing the distance between him and the car, opening the door and climbing inside. “I couldn’t see through your dumb tinted windows. I thought you were some random person trying to kidnap me.”

Bethany looks at herself in the rear view mirror while Spencer buckles himself in. “So that was your plan? Walking a little bit faster?”

Spencer shrugs. “I was planning my escape route to Fridge’s in my head in case I needed to start running.”

Apparently he and Fridge are going to play video games and try to start on Fridge’s extra credit summer assignment for the history class he just barely passed last year. Spencer offered to help him - not cheat, he assures her like 10 times - And Bethany thinks it’s sweet; their friendship. She never knew about them being friends since childhood or their weird middle school fallout - didn’t even know they knew each other until that day in detention - but she’s glad that the game brought them back together. She liked Fridge before, as a hotheaded jock, but she likes him better now that his friendship with Spencer has soften his rough edges. 

Bethany absently follows the way to Fridge’s house, rolling through the absolutely unnecessary stop sign that literally no one stops for. No one but Spencer, apparently.

“Stop sign,” he calls as they pass it. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and Bethany can see in her peripheral vision that he’s giving her that look. “Are you allowed to be driving? I mean - don’t you need a licensed driver with you?”

Bethany raises an eyebrow, doesn’t dare look at him because she knows he’d tell her to keep her eyes on the road. “Yeah - that’s what you and Fridge are for.” She nearly forgets Spencer has a license, but then recalls the countless times he’s showed up to her house in his mom’s Corolla.

Spencer goes, “I’m pretty sure they need to be over 21, though...“ and Bethany snorts.

“What, are you gonna tell on me?”

“Of course not,” he says, voice suddenly weird, and Bethany glances at him, despite the risk of him scolding her. He’s sitting back, ramrod straight, looking forward with a serious, steely expression on his face.

Bethany looks at him for another second before looking back at the road. “What are you doing?”

Spencer says, “Trying to look 21 so we don’t get pulled over. Which we will anyway if you keep running stop signs.”

Her phone vibrates in the cup holder before she can respond - it’s designated spot while she drives - and she reaches for it without thinking. Spencer, whose reflexes are apparently faster than hers, smacks her hand away before she can touch it.

“Bethany,” Spencer sounds exasperated. “Don’t do that.”

Bethany tries not to sound so huffy. “Then you read it.”

Bethany can just barely see Spencer take her phone, look at the screen. “It’s from Alex,” he says. “He said, ‘counting the days until summer camp starts. Does that make me a bad parent?’”

Bethany smiles without thought, temporarily forgetting who’s sitting right next to her. She tries to school her face back to its usual resting bitch expression, but she knows she’s already been caught. “Um,” she doesn’t usually second guess her texts to Alex, but now, with Spencer staring at her, having to say it out loud, she feels almost awkward. Like she’s caught between a Bravestone and a Seaplane.She tries to shake it off. “Just write back, ‘It’s not your fault your first instinct is survival’ and then add that emoji with the steam coming out of its nose.”

Spencer does as he’s told - but not before Bethany sees the unimpressed look he gives her phone. “So...you two are hanging out?”

Bethany rolls her eyes. “No, Spencer.”

“But you want to.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question. Bethany has half a mind to not answer. 

“Of course I do,” she tells him. “Don’t you want to?” Spencer _liked_ Alex. Or she _thought_ he did.

“Yes...” Spencer says slowly, like he’s carefully choosing his words.“But - isn’t it weird now, out here? He’s our parents age. And has kids.”

Bethany doesn’t see a problem with either of those things. And she definitely doesn’t think either of them justify Spencer’s ambivalence towards their situation. She keeps her eyes on the road, mostly to hide the way Spencer’s attitude is making her nose scrunch in annoyance. “So? He saved our lives.” That itself should outweigh whatever qualms Spencer might have with him. Besides, “It wasn’t weird the other day.”

“Because you have a crush on him.”

The steering wheel creaks under her hands, and she forces herself to lessen her grip. “Spencer, if you’ve got something to say to me about Alex, just say it.”

Spencer makes a sputtering noise like he might try to deny her words, but after a few seconds he sighs, defeated. “It’s not even about him. I just...” he sighs again. “I don’t want my best friend getting her heart broken when I could have prevented it. I would feel terrible.”

It _is_ sweet - but Bethany used up most of her appreciation for it at the drive-ins. Now it’s kind of just annoying.

“Spencer, I appreciate your concern,” she says diplomatically. “I do. But I’m not - me and Alex are never going to happen.” It’s kind of weird, how the air in the car seems to grow heavy and settles around them after she says it. It might be the first time she’s actually said it out loud. Or had to acknowledge it in her own voice. “I’m not expecting anything to happen,” she says, slowly, telling herself as much as she’s telling Spencer. “I can barely get a text back. You really don’t have to worry.”

It’s quiet between them for a minute, and Bethany parks on the street in front of Fridge’s house in silence, aside from a curse or two when her front tire accidentally hits the curb. Bethany almost doesn’t want to say anything else, mood turned sour.

After a few more seconds: “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Spencer begins reproachfully. “And my concern is coming from a good place. I swear.”

Bethany wills herself to let it go. It’s not his fault, it’s really not. He’s just looking out for her the only way he knows how - misplaced concern and preparedness for the worst.

She sighs, exhaling the negative energy he’s forced upon her. But she doesn’t meet his eyes, instead finding Fridge’s mailbox more interesting. “I know that,” she tells him. “I do. But it’s important that you know that that’s not why I want to be friends with him.”

“Then what’s the reason?”

Bethany doesn’t even know where to start, never having to explain it out loud before. Martha and Fridge just understood it. “He spent all that time alone in the game,” she tells him, meeting his eyes. If Spencer doesn’t get why it’s important, then she’ll explain it as best as she can. “You remember how intense it was, right? We’re probably the only people in the world that could even begin to understand what he went through, and he had to wait 20 years to be able to talk about it. I want to be there for him.”

Even if Alex never wants to talk about the game with her or any of them - Bethany at least wants him to feel like he has the option to. She thinks about what he said at the cafe - about how his wife looked at him like he was crazy. About how he didn’t even know if it was real -

Spencer speaks before she can stew on it and upset herself further. “I guess I never thought about it that way.” He says, scratching the back of his head. “You’re right, though.”

“Yes,” Bethany nods. “I am.”

 

A sudden knock on Spencer’s window startles them both, and Bethany’s positive Spencer jumps out of his skin. Fridge is standing there, his hands cupped around his eyes, looking in the window. “What are y’all doing in there?”

Spencer opens the door sharply, hitting it against Fridge’s knees and he buckles before catching himself on Bethany’s car. Spencer cackles at his petty revenge and Bethany unbuckles herself enough to lean across the gear shift after Spencer gets out, looking up at the both of them shoving each other back and forth in the yard.

“Get your essay done _before_ you kill each other, please.”

“He couldn’t kill me if he tried,” Fridge says smugly, puts his giant hand on Spencer’s head, holds his arm out, keeping him at bay. Spencer’s long arms shoot out and he tries to knock Fridge’s arm away. He fails, and Bethany smiles to herself, glad to see her friends like this. But sometimes she does miss the hilarity of Spencer in a body like Bravestone’s and Fridge half his usual height.“What’re you doing now?” Fridge asks her, purposefully casual and unbothered just to rile Spencer up. “You have work?”

Bethany shakes her head. “Nope. I’m just getting coffee and running errands. I promised my mom I’d go grocery shopping for dinner tonight, so.”

“Lame,” Fridge says. “Have fun.”

“I’ll try. Are your sisters home?”

“Yes,” Fridge tells her. “But I’m not telling them you said hi. They’ll just bug me all day about you coming over and I won’t get my essay done.”

“Fine,” Bethany pouts. “At least say hi to your mom for me.”

After reassurances that yes, they’ll complete Fridge’s assignment in one piece and yes, he’ll say hi to his mom for her, she shoos them off, feeling like their mother more than she usually does. Bethany sighs to herself. She misses Martha, wishes she wasn’t at her grandparents house for the day. Being a single parent is hard.

She watches them until they disappear inside, Spencer waving back at her before the door closes. Now that she can sit back and think about it, Bethany is glad that her and Spencer had that conversation, as sensitive a subject as it is. She checks her phone, one last distraction before she finally gets the Starbucks she now desperately needs before she goes to the store, blaming the headache she can feel forming on her lack of caffeine.

 

She has one new message.

 

 **From** : _Alex_

I think my chances of survival were higher in the jungle

 

.

 

Bethany doesn’t start off her promise to take hunter to school with as much integrity as she had hoped, waking up when her mom pops in her room to tell Bethany that she’s headed to work and to have him there by 9am, only to promptly fall back asleep and then stay asleep through both of the alarms she had set for herself.

She wakes up again when she feels warm air on her face, eyes opening to find Hunter literally an inch from her, breathing in her face open mouthed because he has no sense of boundaries.

She tries not to cuss in front of him but shit - she can feel her heart leap into her throat with how badly it startles her. At least she’s awake now.

“Momma said you have to take me to school,” he tells her, matter of fact, and Bethany reaches underneath her pillow for her phone, checking the time and feeling her heartbeat once again spike when the time reads that it’s 8:55.

It’s a race to get ready after that. She throws on the first thing she can find - which happens to be the beach outfit she laid out last night for that day because it’s supposed to be gorgeous outside - and hurries to brush her teeth and her hair before she fusses over Hunter.

It’s hard to get him dressed when he starts crying in the middle of her putting his socks on. “I don’t want to go to school,” she can barely make out between his wet sobs, and she empathizes. She really does.

“It’s not school, buddy,” she tells him gently, wiping his tears away. “You’re going to play with your friends all day.”

That doesn’t exactly cheer him up, but it does pacify him into letting her finish dressing him without much of a struggle, and by the time she’s done and double checking the list her mother left on the kitchen counter for her, all traces of his bad mood have disappeared.

“Mom is insistent that I also pack your raincoat even though it’s beautiful outside,” Bethany tells him, though she knows her brother has most likely stopped listening to her. She places his folded jacket in his backpack, followed by the lunch box she finds already packed in the refrigerator. “And we’ll respect that even though she’s c-r-a-z-y. Because she’s picking you up and I don’t want to be b-i-t-c-h-e-d at for not packing it when I get home.”

“H-o-m,” Hunter chirps back. “Home.”

 

For what it’s worth, it _is_ gorgeous out when Bethany leaves the house. It doesn’t stay that way, weather turning about 10 minutes later, sheets of rain so heavy they might as well have erased the road completely. She can just _barely_ see the lights of the car in front of her.

She’s taken Hunter places in her car a few times before, but all three of those times her mother was in the passengers seat next to her and none of those times was it raining so blindingly hard.

She’s glad at least that her mother wasn’t around this morning to hear Bethany questioning her. Because while before the day was beautiful and warm and had all signs pointing to a perfect day at the beach, the weather had turned in an instant, turning Bethany from breezy and carefree to absolutely anxious, clutching her steering wheel and going from 50 in a 45 to just barely 30. But she does wish her mom was there now, just to give her some peace of mind.

Someone honks when they pass her, and Bethany reminds herself to set a good example for her brother in the back and not flip the bird at them like she wants.

“Why did it beep at you?” Hunter asks curiously, but Bethany knows he’s not really interested in her answer. It’s just a gateway to 20 questions, his favorite game as of late.

“Because the driver thinks I’m going too slow,” Bethany tells him, looking at him for the hundredth time to make sure he was still fine. He’s staring out the window, probably watching the rain drops racing down, as perfect and as safe as ever. 

Okay, maybe she was being dramatic, slowing down to 30.She speeds up just a bit, watches the needle hit 35 before her anxiety decides for her that she’s not speeding up any more until the weather clears. Or until they reach the school. Whatever comes first.

And if the other cars don’t like it, they can pass her.

“Why are you going too slow?” Hunter asks.

“Because I want to be careful,” she tells him. “I don’t want to get us hurt by accident.”

“Why would you get us hurt by accident?”

“Because the rain makes the roads slippery,” she says. “Like the tub after your bath. If I go to fast the car might slip.”

“Uh-oh,” Hunter says quietly. “Not good.”

Bethany agrees. Not good at all. So they’re not even going to chance it. And if she has to drive 35 miles an hour for the next 5 miles, so be it.

 

They arrive in one piece, thankfully, and Bethany tries to ignore the fact that they’re 20 minutes later than her mom had told her to be there.Normally that might give Bethany anxiety, but she can barely see that there’s another car parked a few spots away, the only other car in the lot, so maybe she’s not the only tardy parent (or guardian, in her case) there. And also she’s already as full of anxiety as she can get.

“Ugh,” Bethany looks out of the window, up at the sky miserably.  The rain hits against the glass almost mockingly. “Can this day get worse?”

“I don’t got my rain boots on!” Hunter offers helpfully from the backseat, and Bethany looks down at her feet - at her American Eagle flip flops - and nods in agreement.

“You don’t _have_ your rain boots on. And we don’t have an umbrella either.” Bethany’s mom had bought her an umbrella for her car, of course, and a blanket, and an emergency first aid kit, and other weird things Bethany didn’t think were necessary, but had left the task of actually putting them in her car to Bethany, and well - 

She turns to face her brother in the backseat, tries not to beat herself up for being so forgetful. “At least you have your coat.” In his backpack, shoved in the bottom because at one point not long ago it had seemed so unnecessary. Bethany just wished she had brought hers. “Let’s get you unbuckled.”

 

The classroom is through the entrance and across the courtyard - far, far away from her warm, dry car in the parking lot.Bethany has to remind herself that she’ll be back inside very soon, even as she races through the rain, pulling Hunter behind her, his backpack in her arms halfway unzipped because he had to wait until she already locked the car door and sprinted across the grass to ask if he had his lunchbox or if they left it on the seat after getting his raincoat -

The rain, by the way, is not helping - heavy and unforgiving, darkening the sky so much that she can barely see the classrooms; it also doesn’t help that she cant really remember the layout of the school. But Bethany can see a door opening in the distance, a hopeful beam of light at the end of a tunnel. “Ah, hold the door!” Bethany calls out, hoping it’s audible through the rain.

It must be, because the door stays propped open for them.

She ushers Hunter inside, shaking off his backpack as she ducks into the room. She sighs in relief, thankful for the warmth of the classroom and the cover from the rain. “Thank you,” she turns, partly to thank her savior properly, and partly to prove she’s got a armful of backpack and doesn’t just helplessly call for people to hold the door for her. 

She has a smile on her face when she turns, and a thank you on her tongue. Both of those fall away when she sees just who she’s supposed to be thanking.

 

Alex looks just as shocked as she does, at least. He also looks unfairly good, in the same black hoodie he had on the other week, umbrella in hand. His mouth parts in surprise, eyebrows raising. “Bethany!”

Bethany blinks back at him, mind blank. Or, mind blank of all things other than him. But that wasn’t really different than normal. What wasn’t normal is him actually standing in front of her. 

“Alex.” She says his name, stares at him and then realizes that she must look like a drowned rat.  She combs through her wet hair with her fingers self consciously, as inconspicuously as she can. “What - what are you doing here?”

“Beth is starting summer camp here.” He looks over her shoulder, into the classroom buzzing with playing children. “She’s in there somewhere. Hopefully.”

He looks back at her and he’s - he’s grinning. Bethany is almost overwhelmed by it. And probably would have been - had Hunter not tugged on her hand impatiently. Bethany looks down at him, suddenly remembering why she’s here, and he’s staring up at her pouting.

“Oh,” she feels her face heating up. “Sorry, buddy. I’ll hang up your raincoat for you.”

Bethany tries to not feel totally self conscious at the thought of Alex Vreeke watching her in this totally bizarre scenario, trying to put away Hunters things into an empty cubby as quickly as she can, hanging up his coat next to the others on the wall. She won’t have his attention for long, she knows, and bends down to say goodbye to him.

“H-have a good day,” she tells him, feeling bad for being so distracted. She hugs him while she reminds him, “Be nice to the other kids, and be good for your teacher. Okay?”

If Hunter was still upset from having to be here, he doesn’t show it, smile on his face as he turns away from her, before her arms even fall from around him. She watches him make a beeline towards the legos, leaving her alone with Alex by the cubbies, surrounded by tiny jackets and construction paper drawings hung along the windows. When she stands back up and looks back at him, he’s got a crooked smile on his face. It’s so cute she nearly forgets how awkward she feels. “That’s your brother?” 

“Yeah,” She nods. “Hunter.”

“He looks like you.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Bethany says. “We look like our mom.”

There’s a beat of silence, and okay - maybe she doesn’t forget how awkward she feels. Bethany can almost feel it creeping into her bones, or maybe it’s the A/C in the classroom and her soaked clothes. Either way, she doesn’t like it at all. She wracks her apparently void mind for something - anything - to say.

Alex glances out of the classroom window - at the rain hitting against the glass - then back to her. “You didn’t walk here, did you?”

Bethany’s brain starts to reboot, maybe. “No. No, I - I drove. My parents got me a car.”

Alex’s eyebrows raise - his lips quirk back into a smile. “Really?”

Of course, he would have known this two weeks ago - if she had just sent that damn text. “Yeah, I think so they didn’t have to do this themselves.” She gestures to herself - her wet clothes and her dripping hair.

“I don’t blame them,” Alex says. “This rain came out of nowhere, though.”

Bethany didn’t have time in the car to mourn the sunny day that could have been, but she looks at the sky outside and sighs. “It was supposed to be so nice out, too,” she says. “I was going to go relax at the beach before work tonight, and now I can’t. Thanks, rain.”

“The rain might stop people from wanting froyo,” Alex adds thoughtfully, and Bethany struggles to calm her racing heartbeat. They were - just talking. Like friends. “Maybe you won’t be too busy.”

Bethany hums in agreement. “And maybe if it doesn’t clear up I can leave early.”

“See?” Alex grins again, turns back towards the window. “Thanks, rain.”

There’s a beat of silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable this time. But again, Alex is the first to break it. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at texting, by the way,” he says, shoving the hand not holding the umbrella into the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ve had the kids every day since school ended, and it’s been a little more hectic than usual. Which is still pretty hectic.”

“That’s fine,” Bethany says, like she hasn’t been losing her mind over exactly that. It’s fine - because the weight that falls off her shoulders at the confirmation that _no, she’s not the problem_ , and Alex standing in front of her now talking to her like they were _friends_ more than makes up for it.

“But,” he continues, unaware of the mental celebration Bethany is having in the back of her mind. “Andy’s already with his mom, and I don’t have anything going on for the rest of the morning. Wanna get breakfast?”

Bethany blinks. It takes a moment for his words to sink in fully - for his question to click in her brain. She wonders briefly if she’s dreaming. It would be less surprising than Alex actually asking her if she wants to get breakfast after they happen to run into each other at an elementary school of all places. She thinks she should probably just go along with it, dream or not.

“Um...that would be great,” she tells him. Realizes just as the words escape her mouth that she looks like she just fell into a lake. “But I’m not really dressed to go anywhere...” Especially not after the drastic change in weather.

Alex glances at her - then outside at the rain pounding against the window. He purses his lips, makes a face and makes a considering hum in the back of this throat.

“How do you feel about the drive-thru?”

 

.

 

“Here,” Alex is holding the umbrella over Bethany’s head the moment she steps out of the cover of the classroom and into the rain. It pelts at the umbrella like hail, harder than before, and Bethany is suddenly much more grateful for her random encounter with Alex - if that was possible. He falls in step beside her, close enough to keep them both shielded from the rain, close enough for Bethany to smell the faint scent of his cologne. “Do you care if we go in my car?”

“Not at all,” Bethany says. “I’m still recovering from the drive over here.”

She can’t believe they’re as close as they are,thankful for the rain and her own lack of umbrella because every graze of their shoulders is so dizzying, Bethany feels like she might just take flight.

He walks her to the passengers side of his car, holding the umbrella over her while she opens the door. She looks at the seat, the same as it was the first time she got in his car, but this time Bethany hesitates. “I don’t want to get your seat wet.”

Alex gives her a crooked little smile when she looks at him. “It’s not a big deal,” he tells her. “But actually - “

Alex opens the back door on that side, ducks down and disappears while still somehow holding his arm out to cover her with the umbrella. He resurfaces, a blue blanket with tiny lions printed on it in his free hand. He hands it to her and she takes it, stares down at it.

Bethany hesistates again. “I don’t want to get Andy’s blanket wet, either.”

Alex smiles at her again, like he finds her funny. “I can always throw it in the dryer, Bethany.”

She gives in at the end, because the alternative is either them standing out in the rain forever or them standing out in the rain until Alex gets tired of waiting for her to preform basic human tasks. She doesn’t want to chance it - not when a golden opportunity to spend time with him alone has just fallen into her lap. Alex shuts her door for her after she’s inside the car, and Bethany tries not to stare at him the whole time he’s walking to his side.

Instead she looks at her own car - what she can make out through the rain, anyway - watches it fade away into the fog when Alex pulls out of the parking lot. It might be awkward at first, like the first time she was in his car after they met at the cafe, with Alex flipping through various heavy metal radio stations that are all playing what sounds like the same song, and Bethany looking out of the window trying to keep herself quiet and trying to keep her leg from shaking nervously.

She’s mostly comfortable with Alex - when she distracts herself from the fact that it’s actually him - but there’s still that edge to her nerves that comes from being around the person you spend the majority of your time thinking about. And even though she’s still soaked to the bone from the rain head to toe, she can’t really blame her goosebumps on the chill.

It’s just Alex - what he does to her.

She wraps Andy’s baby blanket around her shoulders tighter, hoping Alex doesn’t notice how he affects her - because it’s embarrassing. Because even though he’s not married anymore, and even though she’s pretty sure he has to know she has a crush on him - he’s still an adult. She doesn’t want to make him feel weird.

Bethany doesn’t have to worry for long, since it’s only a short drive to one of the only two McDonald’s in town. The drive-thru is a little backed up, unsurprising for it being the middle of the morning, but it takes longer than normal for it to move forward. Alex drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the song playing on the radio while they wait for the white Prius in front of them to finish their order.

When they pull up to the speaker, there’s a laminated sign hanging on it - Order At First Window.

“Well,” Alex says with a sigh, “I guess that explains the line.”

It’s a few more minutes after that for them to reach the first window, where a bored looking girl Bethany’s age is popping her gum. At least there’s an awning - so he’s not getting completely soaked when Alex rolls his window down. He tells the girl his order, and Bethany forgets to pay attention to it, too preoccupied with looking at him now that he’s looking somewhere else. He looks good, driving. He looks good in general.

He turns his head too fast to her reflexes to warn her, catches her staring. Bethany is going to pretend she was looking at something else. Like the girl at the window.

Bethany looks up at her and - oh. She’s staring at her too. “Um,” Bethany speaks up, once it hits her that they’re waiting for her to tell them what she wants. “Can I get a parfait and a bottled water?”

The girl is staring back at her blankly. “Sorry?” She goes. “I didn’t hear that.”

Bethany doesn’t think about how far she leans forward until she feels the solidity of Alex against her left arm. She feels her face burning as she repeats what she said, feeling kind of dumb, tripping over a word or two because she can _feel it when he breathes -_

The cashier rattles off their order and their total and Bethany snaps back into her seat the second she can without seeming weird. She tries to calm her hammering heart, tries to ignore the warmth on her skin from where they were touching.

They inch ahead in the line, and once they reach the second window Alex pays for her food before she can even protest. It’s - a little embarrassing, the way she almost feels like a kid. But then again, she kind of is.

She just wish it wasn’t so obvious.

Alex takes the bag of food from the second cashier, asks if she’s okay with them eating in the car if he parks somewhere in the lot, and she’s fine with it, fine with anything - and thanks him when he hands her her food.

Alex doesn’t look too impressed with her breakfast. “Who gets yogurt and water at McDonald’s?”

Bethany wishes his gentle teasing didn’t make her heart flutter the way it did. And also wishes her heart would follow the very simple instructions her brain is giving her to play it cool. “Someone who likes yogurt and water. Who gets Sprite at 9am?”

Alex snorts, holds up his breakfast burrito in one hand, pats his stomach affectionately with the other. “Hey, I had to work for this dad bod.”

Bethany rolls her eyes before staring down at her yogurt, if only to keep them off of his body. “You don’t have a dad bod,” she tells him, “But you do have children! They’ll learn from your eating habits.”

“I know,” he sighs. “That’s why I eat ice cream in the bathroom.”

There’s a lull in conversation, and Bethany thinks about all the things she’s wondered about him in the six months she’s known him.

“You’re published, right?”

Alex looks at her, raises an eyebrow, speaks through a mouthful of breakfast burrito. “How did you know that?”

Bethany debates whether or not to lie, not wanting to seem weird, but she figures she’s already been caught being weird, so did it matter? “I may or may not have given your name a quick google search once or twice.”

Alex doesn’t look bothered by that, corners of his mouth tilting into a small smile. “Is that how you knew I taught at BCC?”

“Maybe,” Bethany shrugs, his smile catching. “Cute LinkedIn profile picture, by the way.”

“Well, that’s embarrassing.” Alex laughs.

It isn’t really. And Bethany wasn’t kidding either, or speaking facetiously. It really was cute. “Are you working on anything right now?”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t want to read it,” he says. “It’s YA fantasy.”

“Who says I wouldn’t want to read it? I’m a YA,” Bethany teases. “And I like fantasy.”

Alex looks like he’s debating it. “Yeah,” he says again, “but it’s part of a series, and there are probably 5 other things I’d rather have you read than that one.”

Bethany isn’t going to fight him on that. Not at this particular moment, anyway. “Have you always been good at writing?” She tries to imagine 17 year old metalhead Alex writing his YA fantasy series in between drum sessions. She can’t, mostly because she doesn’t know what 17 year old metalhead Alex looked like, aside from his Jumanji avatar.

“Not at all. I did pretty poorly in school. All my assignments were usually last-minute, and there were other things I was more interested in than writing.”

Bethany blinks at him. “Then how did you become an author?”

Alex pauses, makes a face like he doesn’t really want to tell her, then looks over at her.‘You don’t have to tell me,’ rests on her tongue, even though Bethany really wants to know.

But he speaks before she can actually open her mouth, a little bit awkwardly, eyes turning back towards the dash. “Uh, I think the first serious thing I wrote was about what happened in Jumanji, actually.”

Bethany didn’t see that coming, wasn’t prepared for it, and tries not to let her surprise show on her face. “Really?”

Alex shrugs. “I wrote down everything I could remember. Every animal I saw, every person I encountered, every detail about the bazaar and the weird backstory of the game. I didn’t sleep for two days because I wanted to get it all down before I forgot.” He glances at her, laughs to himself almost self consciously. “And then I slept for a week.”

Bethany doesn’t think she left her bed for 24 hours the first night she was home in her own body. “Do you still have it?” If there’s anything of his that Bethany wants to read - it’s that. 

Alex nods. “Yeah, at my parents house, I think. In the attic somewhere.”

He must know what her next question is going to be, because he looks at her, smiles regretfully.“I’ve never let anyone read it,” he says. “Before you ask. I read it once in like, 2005. It’s pretty rough. But it’s what made me realize that I liked putting things into my own words. Even if reading it back to myself always makes me cringe.”

Bethany tries not to be such a girl but she can’t help it. She rests her cheek in her hand, bats her lashes. “Am I in it?”

Alex rolls his eyes at her, not unkindly. He holds up his hand, has his thumb and forefinger nearly touching. “There’s like, this much of you.” His other hand comes up, and he extends the space between both of them until one is touching his window and one is next to her head. “And this much of Bravestone.”

 

They’ve long since finished their breakfast by the time the rain starts to lighten up, but they’re still sitting in the same spot in the McDonald’s parking lot, and Alex is still entertaining the questions she throws at him. They’ve moved passed the game, in a series of questions Bethany can’t think of right now, too preoccupied with shelling out more - using her valuable time with Alex to get some answers to things she’s been wondering for a while.

“Do you still play the drums?”

If Alex is annoyed by her questions, or if he wants to leave, he doesn’t show it, seat reclined so he can look at the roof of the car when he’s not looking at her. If this was a dream, like Bethany thought earlier, she hopes she never wakes up.Alex shrugs. “I have a few friends that I still play with when we can find the time but it’s a not often. Between the custody schedule and work I barely even find the time to write, despite the fact that I have an actual deadline for that.” He looks over at her, smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill with my adult problems.”

Bethany shakes her head. Like Alex could ever be a buzzkill. Like anything could ever kill the buzz she’s feeling from this - being here with him like this. “It’s okay,” she tells him. Then, “Why don’t you write when you get home?”

“I’ll try, but I’m not hopeful. I’m gonna lose motivation fast,” Alex scratches the back of his head. “Without the kids I’ll be overwhelmed by boundless freedom.” He pauses. “Actually, I’ll probably just take a nap.”

Bethany looks out the window - the storm has broken by then, but it’s still raining a fair amount. The type of rain that does tend to make her sleepy. “That doesn’t sound bad. It’s the perfect weather for a nap.”

“Which is the perfect weather for procrastination.” He snorts, to himself. But he’s looking at her and smiling when he adds, “Thanks, rain.”

 

Once the clock on Alex’s dash hits 11:30 with a sharp tick, Bethany realizes that they’ve been sitting in his car for two hours. She looks at the time and remembers suddenly that she had told Martha she was going to head over to her place by noon to hangout before work - something that completely slipped her mind when she was with Alex because it was primarily focused on him.

Bethany debates for a minute whether or not she should text Martha and cancel to keep hanging out with him instead - it was _Alex_ after all, and Martha would definitely get it - but no. She’s not going to be one of those girls that cancels on her plans for a guy. Even if it’s Alex. And even though it’s Martha. Especially because it’s Martha. Because there’s no one that gets Bethany’s teenage emotions about Alex better than her red haired best friend. Bethany knows herself well enough to know that she’ll probably have Martha on the phone the second she’s in her own car.

Bethany is pretty miserable internally when she tells him she should probably head back to the school, but the way his face falls in maybe-disappointment makes up for it a tiny bit. But that’s most likely Bethany’s wishful thinking.

She wants to tell him how much she liked hanging out like this. Tries to find a way to phrase it in her head that doesn’t sound completely pathetic and desperate. She still hasn’t found the words by the time they pull back into the elementary school. He pulls up right next to her car so she doesn’t have to go too far in the rain - even if it’s just harder than a drizzle now. He even gets out of his car without his umbrella to say goodbye to her after she gets into her own drivers seat. Which she now bitterly realizes are not as comfortable as his seats.

“I’ll probably text you in 20 minutes for motivation,” he tells her. “My outlook for productivity is bleek.”

“I’ll send you some encouraging emoji,” Bethany promises. “And if you don’t text back I’ll assume you’re really deep into your writing.” It’s what she’s going to assume from now on anyway, because it sounds better than him finding her boring - which isn’t as horrible as it sounds now that they’ve established that he doesn’t. Now that she has two hours of proof.

“If I don’t respond to your first text then send another.” Alex tells her. “What do you YA’s call that? Double texting?”

Bethany feels her heart skip. “You want me to double text you?”

“Triple text me,” Alex says, and sounds like he means it. “And if I don’t respond to that, then it’s probably safe to assume that I’ve fallen asleep.”

She promises she will, and even though she knows this conversation has organically reached its end, she doesn’t want to say goodbye. She could stay there all day with the window open and the rain soaking her through again, as long as Alex Vreeke was the one standing on the other side of her door.

But that’s not realistic. She has to leave at some point. She tells herself that again and again when Alex straightens, takes his hand off her door. “Drive safe,” he tells her.

Bethany smiles, hopes it doesn’t look as sad as it feels. She’s happy that she got to spend the morning with Alex, but she’s sad it had to end - sad because she doesn’t know the next time she’ll be able to be with him like that. Doesn’t know if she ever will again.

She rolls up her window after they exchange final goodbyes, waves at him before he ducks into his own car even though she knows he wouldn’t be able to see it through the tint anyway. He leaves before she does, and good thing because she’s planning on sitting here and sulking for at least another 5 minutes.

She watches his car pull out of his spot. Watches it drive up the lot and toward the street. Bethany watches until he turns out of the school, until his car disappears.

Then Bethany wastes no time, digging through the bag for her phone that she totally forgot she left in the car until this moment. Bethany forgetting her phone is practically unheard of, but she’ll take a minute to stop and appreciate a feat like that later. She ignores the messages and Instagram comments she has waiting for her, going straight for her recent calls. 

 

Martha answers after one ring. “Hey.”

Bethany feels like she might explode, or float into the air and never come back down - her best friend’s voice the only thing keeping her grounded. “Oh my god,” she says. 

 

“You won’t believe what just happened.”

 

.

 


End file.
